


In Your Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst and Tragedy, Anxiety, Blind Castiel, Castiel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Castiel's Wings, Depression, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Purgatory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Angel war, Purgatory Flashbacks, Romance, Wing Kink, coarse language, cute fluff, cute stuff too, not all sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel escaped Purgatory, but without the ability of sight, and fell right into the brewing chaos of the oncoming angel war. Reunited with the Winchesters, Castiel struggles to cope with his new blindness and the ever-impending angel soldiers sent to fetch him, but finds himself opening up to the beauty of human emotion and all that it carries. And, since there is no love without pain, can there really be Dean without Cas?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING*  
> This story follows a canon divergence from the episode "As Time Goes By" (S8E12). Instead of escaping Purgatory in S8E7, Castiel appears after the brothers meet Abaddon and discover the Bunker. However, he does not escape through the assistance of Naomi. Aside from Naomi's interference with Castiel's mind and his strange behaviour, the storyline continues as canonically as possible for the most part, considering the circumstances. However, that being said, there will be a lot of added/removed aspects of the story that change the course of the plot. I will say this now, in advance: there may possibly be a major character death in the future chapters, but I might decide against that. If I change my mind, or if I need to include more warnings, I will edit this author's message. Please note that this is a working progress and my first full-length Supernatural fanfiction.
> 
> Now that we have all of that cleared out of the way, please enjoy chapter one!

A woman gasped aloud and pulled her car to such a sharp halt that she jerked forward, the red outline of her lips shaping into a panicked O. Drivers behind her honked loudly, slamming their steering wheels in annoyance at the woman heaving with breath, her pearl earrings swinging. She looked up and was overcome with relief to find that the man she thought she'd hit was standing in front of the nose of her car, completely unharmed. He did seem, however, to be completely terrified.

The rushing sound of cars was overwhelming; tires screaming, horns blaring, exhaust filling the air and smothering everything in an invisible black smog. The man whipped his head about him, a look of terror stricken across his face. He let out a small wail when a hand closed about his wrist and hauled him to the side, dragging him to the safety of the side walk where he stumbled and fell onto his backside.

"What in earth were you doing?!" a female voice exploded anxiously. "You could have gotten yourself killed!" With a swinging curtain of tawny hair, the young woman snatched his hands and helped him to stand.

"I-I don't know," the man said, fear and exhaustion laced in his voice. He dropped his hands to his sides and began to fiddle with tattered edges of his long trench coat. He moved his head around a little, but there was something odd about the way he seemed to look at things; his eyes weren't moving at all. The woman inspected this tiny note and realization swept through her as she studied his blank eyes.

The man was blind.

She immediately felt awful for yelling, wanting to reach out and stuff her words back down her throat. No wonder this poor man was so terrified; he must have wandered into the street by accident. The woman touched his arm lightly, causing the man to jump.

"Hey," she began gently. "My name is Celia, what's yours?" The man moved his head towards the sound of her voice, moving his hands tentatively along her forearm, attempting to locate her.

"My name is Castiel," he replied, clutching at her arm. "...I think."

Celia glanced down at his hand, feeling the shake of his body right through her bones. Slowly, she put down her briefcase, setting it by her foot on the grey pavement. With her newly freed hand, she gripped the man's shoulder reassuringly.

"Well Castiel, are you with someone?" she inquired, looking around to see the telltale signs of searching.

"No..." Castiel said. "But I was with a friend...before." He placed his hand on his forehead, scrunching his weary features.

"You were? Great!" Celia started, pulling out her phone. "Do you know their phone nu—"

"A very long time ago," Castiel interjected suddenly. Celia looked at him in confusion.

"What?"

"I lost him a very long time ago," Castiel murmured. "So long ago..."

Celia eyed him with concern that quickly turned to panic when he seized the sides of his head, rocking back and forth in great distress.

"Monsters...so many monsters," he mumbled, digging his fingers into his temples and grabbing at his closely cropped hair. Celia looked around in alarm, hoping to catch someone's eye; but of all the suited men branded with pinstripes and of all the high-heeled women clattering by in crisp pencil skirts, barely anyone batted an eye. Those who did steered themselves clear of the young business woman and the crazy man, crouched on the sidewalk in a dirty brown coat. All about them was the early bustle of morning rush hour, closed in by impending office buildings and towers of concrete; not a single green thing anywhere. Just people, suits, manicured nails and concrete.

It was only then that Celia fully assessed Castiel's appearance, contrasted against the strict, harsh lines he was a small shivering being of sorrow. A set of what seemed to be once-white pyjamas bore remnants of dirt ground in over time and suspicious specks of what could be blood. His face was plastered with grime, pale tracks of tears long since dried told tales of misery and loss. His cheeks were sunken, but it seemed to be of grief rather than hunger. Celia couldn't believe how positively miserable he looked and it made her feel guilty inside, landing on her stomach like an ugly grey sickness. She was about to open her mouth to suggest that they find a doctor's office when Castiel's murmuring stopped. He quite suddenly shoved his hands into the vast pockets of his coat, his hands searching frantically for something. Before Celia had more than a moment to collect her thoughts, the man was brandishing a dented cell phone in her face.

"Please call Dean," he said urgently, searching for her hand. "Call Dean."

"Dean?" Celia asked, taking the phone from him. It was an old model; a basic flip phone, but it looked like it had seen hell.

"Yes, he should be on there," Castiel replied. "Please call Dean."

"Alright, give me a second," Celia said, inspecting the cracked screen and trying a few of the buttons. After a minute or two, she managed to find the contacts. This 'Dean' was highlighted. Placing one hand reassuringly on Castiel's shoulder, Celia pressed the selection button and put the phone up to her ear, glancing at Castiel as it began to ring.

* * *

"I did what you said you wanted me to do!"

"And when do we ever follow each other's orders, Sammy?"

Sam glared at Dean, setting his jaw angrily and lowering his eyebrows. Recently, tensions had been running high and fights were frequent. With a nod, Dean ran his hand over his face and shot Sam with a sarcastic smile that died in moments.

"Right, because Monsieur monk must follow orders," he replied, turning on his foot slightly. "Instead of, oh...Maybe looking for his brother who got zapped to goddamn Purgatory!"

Sam immediately opened his mouth angrily to blast a retort at his brother but was interrupted by a buzzing vibration. In unison, their heads swivelled to face the direction of the noise.

Under a pile of papers and a few stray police files lay a scattered pile of cell phones; all of varying different types. One of the older ones was buzzing, sending itself in little bouncy circles on the hard wood of the table. Instinctively, Dean reached out to pick it up, brushing a page on Cerberus off to the side. With a calloused hand, he placed it in his palm, inspecting the piece of machinery.

"Isn't that one of yours?" Sam asked. Dean nodded and frowned. "Who is it?" Sam inquired further. Dean gave him a quirky look and flipped open the phone, causing the buzzing to cease.

"Only one way to find out," he said, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

* * *

Celia was beginning to wonder if this 'Dean' had changed his phone number when the ringing in her left ear dissipated mid-ring.

"Hello?"

The voice sounded deep, older than she'd expected. But then again she wasn't sure what she expected. This must be Dean.

"Um, hi," she began. "Is this Dean?"

"Yeah, who is this?"

"Celia, but that's not important—"

"It is important. How did you get this number?"

Celia sighed in exasperation; why, she didn't know. "It's not important. Your friend is in trouble."

"What?" Dean's voice suddenly changed tone. "Who?"

"A man called Castiel?"

* * *

Dean's fingers went slack and the phone nearly slipped from his grasp. His lips parted as his jaw dropped slightly. He was speechless.

"Um, hello?...Dean?" The Celia woman's voice drifted into his ear, shaking him from his trance and reconnecting the part of his brain that forms words.

"Cas?" he said in response. Across the room, Sam's eyes widened and his eyebrows rocketed.

"Are you with Cas?"

"Um, yes. Castiel's here —is it possible for you to come get him?"

His heart pounding in his chest, Dean nodded eagerly even though he knew she couldn't see him.

"Yes, absolutely. Where are you calling from?"

* * *

Celia scanned around herself for a street sign; managing to spot one at the intersection a little ways off.

"The intersection of Belvidere and Huntington Avenue, Boston." Celia gave Castiel a worried glance as he stumbled slightly, clutching her coat sleeve. "You really should hurry."

She heard Dean speaking fervently to someone before he returned to the phone.

"Is this Cas' phone?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Turn on the GPS."

"Okay, give me a second." Celia fumbled around with the phone until she found the GPS controls, which she promptly turned on.

"Got it," she said, putting the phone back up against her cheek. Dean voiced a quick thanks and then asked if she could put Castiel on the phone.

"Dean wants to speak with you," she said, turning to Castiel. She put the phone in his hand and helped to guide it up to his ear. When Castiel began to speak, his voice was creaky and seemed to scratch at the air.

"Dean," he said quietly.

* * *

The moment he heard Castiel's voice on the other end, the relief that washed over Dean was euphoric. Never had he been happier to hear the gravelly but strangely endearing voice of the angel.

"Cas, oh my god," he said. "Hold on buddy, we're coming to get you." With a quick nod to Sam, they shuffled out of the motel and made their way quickly down the steps to their car.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel replied, his voice quiet. "Please hurry."

"We're coming, Cas, just sit tight," Dean said, sliding into the passenger seat of the Impala. He moved the phone away from his mouth and turned to Sam who was sticking the key into the ignition. "How far to Boston, Sammy?"

"About six hours," Sam replied, settling into the seat and pressing his foot on the reverse pedal, backing them out of the motel parking lot.

"We'll be there in five hours, Cas," Dean said into the phone. Sam gave him an apprehensive look and turned the car around, speeding off down the highway. "Can you find a café or a library to hang out in for a little bit?"

* * *

Castiel moved the phone away from his mouth and spoke in the general vicinity of where Celia was, hoping he wasn't simply talking to a wall.

"Dean would like to know if there's somewhere I can wait for him. He won't be here for another five hours," he said. Celia looked around again, but all she could see were office buildings and restaurants.

"Pass me the phone, Castiel," she said, holding out her hand to him and forgetting momentarily that he couldn't see it. The sick feeling descended upon her gut again as he held out the small device to the opposite right of her, but she tried to shake it off and took Castiel's hand in her own. His head moved towards where the sensation of her hand on his was emanating from. Taking the phone from him, Celia replaced it to its place by her ear.

"I can take him to the mall, it's not far from here," she said. On the other end of the phone she could hear the rushed sounds of tires on a highway, the faint sound of Metallica and a strange chunking sound she couldn't quite make out. It sounded as if someone had stuffed something in the vents of an old car.

"Have him wait in the food court," Dean replied, startling Celia slightly. However, she quickly regained her composure and cleared her throat.

"Sure."

"Thanks a million, Celia."

Celia smiled a little and glanced at Castiel. "No worries. Just keep an eye on him from now on." She heard Dean laugh and reply with reassurance and another thanks, then a click.

Celia pulled the phone away from her face and studied it for a moment. A bizarre series of thoughts coursed through her brain, but she shrugged then away and tried to focus on the task at hand. She snapped the phone shut and pressed it into Castiel's hand. His fingers closed around it protectively and he slipped it back into the pocket of his tattered trench coat.

Bending down to retrieve her briefcase, Celia put her hand on Castiel's arm and spoke to him gently.

"Castiel? I'm going to take you to the Copley mall. You'll meet Dean in the food court, alright?"

Castiel steadied himself on her arm and nodded, his blank eyes staring at nothing.

Knowing that she was already late for work, Celia squeezed his arm and smiled. "Let's be off then."

* * *

"How the hell is anyone supposed to function here?"

"Just turn left into that space there; it'll be faster if we just park and walk the rest of the way."

"I know how to drive my own friggin' car, Sammy!"

Sam raised his hands in surrender and leaned back against his seat, glancing at his brother out of the corner of his eye. Dean's hands were gripping the steering wheel and his shoulders were bunched up around his neck. Every muscle in his body seemed to be tense, and Sam was positive that he wasn't only worried about the traffic.

"Dean," he tried again. "You've been on edge ever since we switched. If you're so freaked out, why did you offer to drive?"

Dean's jaw hardened and the movement of his teeth clenching could be seen through the skin of his cheek. "I'm fine, Sam. Just keep looking for the mall."

Sam sighed in defeat, raising his eyebrows and returning to his appointed task. They sat in silence for a while, surrounded by cars and pedestrians on all sides. Dean was beyond paranoid. Driving in cities always put his nerves on end -he preferred the open emptiness of the highway.

"Dean, seriously—"

"Shut up, Sam!"

Dean attempted to relax himself in order to drive properly, assessing the crowd of cars around him. He analysed the rows of vehicles, the positions of the pedestrians and how far it was to the next light. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an opening that turned down a smaller side street that connected to the next major road.

Flicking on his turn signal, he crossed in front of a silvery car and manoeuvred the Impala to slide into the gap. He let out an audible sigh of relief the moment he escaped the cramped road and relaxed a little in his seat.

"I hate cities," he declared aloud. "All cement, offices and shitty bars."

Sam chuckled and pulled his phone from his pocket, flicking it on to the GPS. "Cas' phone isn't far from here," he said, his eyes following the miniature roads and streets on the screen of his phone. "It's only a few blocks. We can park here and walk."

Instead of responding, Dean began to look around for a parking space. He found one quickly and pulled up in front of a stationary boutique. Together, they got out of their car; pulling jackets and, in Sam's case, a scarf from the back seat. Dean placed his forearms on the roof of the car, watching as his brother donned a sleek black scarf and brushed some hair out of his face.

"What's with the hippie scarf?"

Sam rolled his eyes and closed the door of the car, stuffing his hands into his pockets and coming around the front.

"It was a gift," he said defensively, coming to stand beside Dean. The shorter of the two studied the scarf with amusement.

"A gift from who? Crowley?"

"Dean."

"Yeah, yeah. Lead the way, Moose," Dean teased, gesturing in a random direction.

"The GPS said to go this way," Sam said, ignoring the Moose comment. "And you said that woman was dropping Cas off at the mall." He began to walk in the direction of the road they'd just left, burying his face in the soft folds of his scarf. Dean came up close behind him, walking with a determined step.

The wind was cold enough to nip at their noses and cheeks, and snow that had begun to fall was sent up in swirling gusts of powder. Their coats were dusted with snow, matching the fluffy speckles that had landed in their hair. After a moment or two, Sam lifted his face from where it was buried and gave the sky an inquisitive look.

"Why didn't Cas just ask where we were? He could have teleported, or whatever that thing he does," he asked aloud. "I mean, it's not like we're hard to find. Not for Cas anyway."

Sam glanced to the side briefly, but Dean was no longer there. Pausing to look back over his shoulder, Sam's hair swung slightly in the February air as he made eye contact with his brother who was rooted to the spot a few feet back.

"Dean?"

Dean's face was frozen in an expression of revelation. He stared hard into Sam's eyes as thoughts raced through his mind. Then with a blink, he was back at Sam's side taking brisk, long strides.

"Sammy, we've gotta go faster," he said, angling his head downwards slightly to prevent wind from hitting his face. "He could be hurt."

The same wave of revelation washed over Sam, but he didn't let it stall him. He nodded and traveled alongside his brother on his long legs.

With their heightened speed, they were soon clearing the first block; cars searing by and specks of snow hitting their faces. A murmur of bizarre noises to his right caught Sam's attention and he turned his head to see Dean muttering things hastily under his breath. Although his voice was muffled and the sounds of the city filled his ears, Sam was able to catch a few choice phrases from the ramblings pouring out of his brother's mouth.

"Hold on Cas," he mumbled. Sam's worry only got louder in his mind, but he remained silent.

Dean could barely focus on walking, not with his mind throwing horrible imagery and torturous suggestions in front of his eyes like confetti. Twice he nearly walked into someone and Sam had to steer him away from the shrivelled flower planters and newspaper stands. To those on the outside, he looked angry enough to punch someone who smiled at him the wrong way, but in reality he was more worried than he had ever been in his life. He'd thought that no one could worry him more than Sam, but despite all the times his little brother had been in danger, the fear he felt for Castiel was overwhelmingly stronger. It angered him that he felt this way, although he wasn't sure what part of it made him angry or why he felt it at all. One thing he was sure of though; he was going to find Castiel and he was going to bring him home. He was going to hold him tight and keep him safer than he'd ever been in heaven.

And he was never going to let go.


	2. Chapter 2

"DEAN!"

Sam's eyes widened in horror as he watched his brother launch off the edge of the curb and barrel out into the street. He felt his heart fail him a little as cars screeched and horns screamed, but Dean dodged the metallic vehicles easily. The moment one weathered boot landed on the opposite side walk, Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His body relaxed with relief, but it was short lived before being replaced with annoyance. Sam jogged the few extra meters until he reached the crosswalk, pressing the button with three fingers. Glancing across the road, he spotted his brother beginning to walk away from him. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Sam pounded the button a few more times, as if that would change the light faster.

"Come on," he hissed, his eyes flickering between the glowing red hand on the other side of the road and his brother's retreating back. Finally, the light became green and the hand morphed into the symbol for 'Go'. Sam wasted no time in sprinting across the street, dodging pedestrians and streetlights until he managed to catch up to Dean, who turned out to be a very efficient speedwalker.

"What the hell was that?!" Sam demanded, slightly out of breath. When Dean didn't respond, Sam grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn around.

"Look, I know you're worried," he began. Dean glared at him irritably.

"Sam, we don't have time-"

"But that's no reason to throw yourself into a busy road!" Sam exclaimed, cutting him off. "You've gotta calm down!"

Dean looked angry, then offended, then something else that Sam had never seen before. "I've gotta calm down?" he echoed. "Calm down? Sam, Cas could be friggin' dying, and you're telling me to calm down?"

"But he spoke to you on the phone, right? He's clearly well enough to speak," Sam contradicted.

"That doesn't mean he's not hurt," Dean replied, shoving Sam's hand off his shoulder harshly.

"Dean-"

"Sam, the last time I checked, Cas was lost in Purgatory. We get a call saying he's waiting for us in the food court of a mall? We. Go. I don't care what you have to say," Dean retorted angrily, his eyes flashing. He turned around again and continued his steady trek towards the mall. Sam paused for a moment, glaring at the back of Dean's head in annoyance, this time fueled with concern as well as anger. He made a small scoffing noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head a fraction before following behind Dean.

"Dean, could you just listen to me for a second?" he demanded. Dean stopped walking, his hardend eyes set forward. Clenching and unclenching his jaw, he eventually turned his head to look at Sam through the corner of his eye, but remained silent. Sam ignored the rather rudely executed gesture, instead snatching the opportunity to voice his concerns.

"Dean, what if this is a trap?" he suggested. "We know that Crowley isn't exactly too happy with us, and we more or less set Abaddon against us the moment she launched herself out of that closet."

"Abaddon isn't going anywhere, Sam."

"Sure, it probably isn't Abaddon herself, but who's to say that she didn't contact followers before we ganked her? How can we know that this isn't just one of them setting a trap for us?"

"I talked to Cas, this isn't a trap."

"Dean, what if they forced him to speak? How can we be sure?"

Dean whipped his head around to glare at his brother. "We can't, but has that ever stopped us before?"

Sam pressed his mouth into a thin line and exhaled through his nose, tempted to shake his head in disbelief. Dean straightened out the collar of his jacket forcefully and motioned to Sam with a jerk of his head.

"Come on, it's just over there," he said referring to the mall. Sam sighed in defeat and followed Dean, running over escape plans and possible traps in his head.

* * *

 

_There was blue light everywhere, shooting through the air like lightning. Castiel scrambled up the craggy slope, Dean just above him and brandishing his makeshift knife. Castiel's foot slipped and he tumbled downwards, his hands scraping on the jagged rocks he was attempting to climb. Dean heard him trip and turned around quickly._

_"Cas, dammit, come on!" he shouted, waiting until the angel regained his footing before turning back to continue his own climb. He reached the top of the rock and clambered into the edge of the portal, squinting through the blinding light. He spotted Cas through the flashes of blue, still struggling up the rock face._

_"Come on!" he bellowed, throwing out his arm for Cas to grab onto. Castiel seized his forearm, clinging to it with fear and terror in his eyes. Dean tightened his grip on Castiel's arm, feeling it slip slightly._

_"I've got you!" he cried. "Come on!" He felt panic settle into his brain, which only made him grip more tightly._

_"Dean!" Castiel cried, his voice cracking away from it's usual steady monotone and turning rapidly into a panicked shriek. "Dean!" he repeated desperately, his hand sliding farther and farther down Dean's arm until only their fingers were holding on. Suddenly, Castiel's hand slipped from Dean's grip and he slid down the slope again. Dean had merely more than a millisecond, but it was enough time to see the look of utter despair that washed over Castiel's face. He tried to call out one last time, but his voice was swallowed by the deafening roar of the portal as it swept him away, carrying Benny with him._

_Castiel stared at the spot where he had last laid eyes on Dean long after he had disappeared. He sat on the ground, at the base of the slope, surrounded by the fallen body parts of the two Leviathans. His mind felt blank, disbelieving, and his thoughts were only those of denial._

_'Dean wasn't gone. He couldn't possibly be gone. He was never gone. Dean was always okay. He always came back.'_

_A breeze rustled though the filthy strands of Castiel's hair, caressing his skin. It was unusual for there to be anything gentle in Purgatory, but when a breeze did come, Castiel had learned to cherish it._

_But this time, as he felt the softness of the air brush along his cheek and across the back of his neck, the breeze brought something else with it. Hidden beneath its gentle breath, a sharp blade sliced its way suddenly and painfully into Castiel's mind and he was struck with a terrible realisation as if it had slapped him in the face._

_Dean was never coming back. Never. He was stuck, to be forever tortured and hunted by Leviathans in Purgatory. It was impossible to leave, he had known that ever since they arrived, but now that Dean was gone, the sheer concept of his isolation engulfed him._

_But, what truly hurt most of all, was the realization that he would never again set eyes on Dean Winchester. Whether they be through the eyes of Jimmy Novak, or the eyes of another vessel, he would never be blessed with another glance at the hunter's face, or hear the deep laugh, or the gruff voice. Castiel swallowed heavily, fully understanding for the first time._

_Then he felt warmth, and wetness. It slid down his cheek, beside his nose and past his lip. It clung to his chin for a moment before falling onto his left hand. He looked down at where the droplet had fallen and began to feel more liquid trickle down his cheeks. He suddenly felt his body shake as he took an impossibly deep breath and his breathing began to sound high pitched and strange to him. He was crying._

_Castiel shook with grief, staring forlornly at where the portal had been, feeling his pain overwhelm him. He sat in the same spot for a very long time, until long after he was out of tears._

Castiel fiddled with the torn sleeve of his trench coat as the memory faded. It certainly wasn't his favorite, but it seemed to be the one that came to mind whenever he thought of Purgatory.

Around him, the lazy bustle of the food court swallowed him with it's onslaught of noise. There was the faint sound of the television stationed above him, reading out the forecast for tomorrow, accompanied by a blast of heat and a peppy song trickling out of the overhead speakers. However, although these noises were loud, Castiel was intent on listening to the other sounds surrounding him: after-work conversations about market status; orders for coffe, extra large, black; a chair being pushed away with a foot.

Castiel smiled softly. Even without sight, he could still be amazed by the world of humanity and it's technological simplicity. He moved his head about a little, blinking occasionally so as to not startle people. His world was nothing but a white-ish grey cloud full of voices and sounds. He could sense lights; some filling his vision with glowing orbs as he moved his eyes past them.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, the sharp scent of coffee biting at his sinuses as it mingled with the other smells that filled the air. Chinese noodles, oil, tomato sauce, cheese, chocolate; all of it created a tantalizing mess of worlds, mixing in a little of each and pouring it all into the air. Castiel wished he knew where the coffee shop was; he knew it wasn't polite to simply sit and not buy anything. Unfortunately, he hadn't a clue which direction he should walk in to find where the coffee smell was coming from, and he didn't have any money.

'How foolish money is', Castiel thought to himself. 'But I suppose the world would fall into terrible dismay without it. How silly though; the world revolves around little slips of paper.'

He sat back in his chair, the plastic seat becoming warmed and far more comfortable than it had been before. He wondered when Sam and Dean would arrive, and for how long he'd been sitting. It was easy for him to calculate exactly how many minutes he'd been waiting, but he didn't feel the need to. Sam and Dean would come. They always came.

* * *

 

"Did I mention that I hate cities?" Dean said sarcastically, for the third time, as he glanced around a polished beige corner. Sam groaned inwardly.

"Yes, Dean," he said, only humoring Dean until they found the food court. They had arrived at the huge mall twenty minutes ago, but had spent the entire time going in circles inside the industrial maze.

"This is ridiculous," Dean grumbled. "Why would anyone want to buy any of this crap?" He looked through the glass panes separating him from the merchandise, snorting at the things displayed.

"It's not ridiculous," Sam said quietly, touching the end of his scarf and looking away from Dean. Although Dean didn't quite catch what he said, he recognized the tone in which Sam spoke.

"Hey, Sammy, I didn't mean it," he tried softly, hoping to close up whatever painful memory he'd opened. Sam returned with a rather forced looking smile.

"It's okay, lets just focus on finding Cas," he said. Dean looked at him with concern, but nodded. Then, with a flip of his hair, Sam looked up and began scanning the mall for something. Whatever it was, he found it after a moment or two and beckoned for Dean to follow him. Up against the rail that overlooked the first and second floors sat a large backlit case. A map.

"I'm assuming that the food court is on the first level," Sam began to say as they approached the map. "But we can use this to double check. Also, I don't have a clue where the escalators are." Dean nodded again in response, but as soon as he got a good look at the map, his face morphed into an expression of disbelief.

"This isn't a friggin' map!" he exclaimed, holding his arms out in front of himself in the direction of the map. Sam chuckled at his brother's reaction.

"Sure it is, you're just a little behind on technology," he said. "Grandpa."

Dean glared at Sam; the latter finding it very difficult not to snigger. "You... You, shut your face," Dean said angrily, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment. He looked away from Sam, crossing his arms across his chest and pretending to inspect the map closely.

"Come on," Sam chuckled, whacking Dean across the back. "The food court is on the main floor." He began to head to the escalators, leaving Dean in front of the map. After a minute, Dean huffed again and grumbled after his brother.

The mall wasn't crowded; it only being two o'clock on a Thursday, but Dean was still uncomfortable. He disliked the eerie orderly-ness of the building. As they descended to the first floor, he could see the food court splayed out beneath him; a large open space filled with chairs, tables and potted plants. It was bordered by restaurants and trash cans.

With eyes that matched the ferns growing in the planters, he scanned the entirety of the food court, searching. Thankfully for him, Cas sort of...stood out a little, making him very easy to find. Sitting alone at a table for two, he seemed to be gazing up at the glass ceiling, watching the snow slowly pile up on top of the piles that remained from the last snowfall. He looked so serene.

"There he is," Dean said, grabbing Sam's attention and pointing to the solitary angel. Pushing Sam to the side, he clambered down the rest of the escalator's decent, leaping over the last few steps.

"Dean, wait!" Sam called, following Dean's path, but with the gift of longer legs making it easier. He caught up to Dean for the second time as his brother made a beeline for the angel. This time, however, he wasn't able to stop Dean and he knew no words would. Jogging after him, Sam watched fondly as Dean barreled at Castiel and leapt to engulf him in a hug, nearly knocking the poor angel off his chair.

"Cas, oh man, it's so good to see you, little buddy!" Dean exclaimed, squeezing Cas tightly.

"Dean!" Castiel said happily in response, his voice slightly strained and a little muffled.

Flashes of emotion whizzed through Dean's brain, but in his blur of reality Castiel stood out sharp and bright. It was Cas, the real Cas. Not a hazy dream Castiel, or a horror-stricken nightmare Castiel. He was solid, warm, a little tense; just the same as always. He smelled of dirt, but with a delicate and unmistakable sweetness hidden underneath that couldn't compare to any cologne. Cas was all limbs and warmth tucked away inside his big baggy trench coat and Dean was beyond thankful that every bit of it was safe and in his arms. He finally pulled away, holding Cas at arms length to get a full view of him, a ridiculously large grin on his face.

Sam noticed the oddity before Dean did, but just as he was about to point it out, Dean's joyful smile faded and his gaze fell on Castiel's eyes. They were blue, but clouded and void of life, empty of the spark that served as a window to what little emotion Castiel possessed.

"Cas..." Dean began, lifting a hand to delicately turn Castiel's face to look at his own. "Cas...what's wrong with your eyes?"

Castiel tried to turn his head away from the sound of Dean's voice. It was so very strange to hear the Winchester boy and not see the matching playful mouth, the sparkling green eyes. Although Castiel had heard many voices already, knowing only the sound of Dean's voice felt painful. Because of this newfound hurt, he wanted to turn his head away, but the warm force that cupped his jaw held fast. He swallowed.

"Cas, what's going on," Dean demanded, his voice becoming anxious. Castiel couldn't bear to hear him like that. He wanted to hear Dean's happiness, and he didn't want to be the reason why it was absent. He took a deep breath and felt...scared? Why did he feel scared?

"Dean..." he said softly. "I wish I could use different words to explain this..."

"Explain what? Cas, what are you talk-"

"I'm blind, Dean."

Dean's hand shook and fell from Castiel's cheek. His mouth opened slightly and he made a small choking sound in the back of his throat. His eyes searched Castiel's face, desperately trying to find a playful smile, or a hint of deception, but there was nothing. Nothing except an expression of sadness and those empty, blank eyes.

Behind him, Sam gripped the back of an extra chair, staring at Castiel in disbelief. He didn't notice at first when Dean slumped over slightly and stared at the ground. Instead, he kept his eyes glued to Castiel, sitting in the plastic chair and looking smaller than Sam had ever seen him.

Suddenly, Dean snapped. He whipped his head up and stared at Cas with a burning flame in his eyes.

"Who did this to you?" he demanded furiously. "I swear I'll end that son of a bitch."

Castiel bit the inside of his lip uncomfortably and rubbed his thumb against the side of his forefinger on his left hand. He seemed hesitant.

"Who did this?" Dean repeated, a hint of insanity in his voice. Sam's gaze darted to his brother, his grip on the chair becoming tighter and tighter. When Cas didn't respond, Dean slammed a hand flat down onto the table between them, causing both Sam and Cas to jump.

"Who, Cas?!" he roared, drawing the attention of a few others sitting near them.

"I-I don't know," Castiel replied, his voice soft and scared. He cowered in his chair, seeming to shrink even more. The volume of Dean's voice frightened him and he was so disoriented that he didn't know where it had come from. All he knew was that there had been a loud bang from somewhere and that Dean was very, very angry.

"Did this happen in Purgatory? How long have you been out?" Dean asked, his voice still wrought with fury.

"Seventeen hours," Castiel said after making the short calculation in his head.

"How'd you get out? Did you find another portal?" Dean inquired, the anger in his voice fading fast. He took the chair Sam was leaning on and spun it around so that the back was facing Cas. Sam tumbled forward as the chair was jerked away from him, but instead of trying to stop his decent, Dean shot him a smirk. Thankfully, Sam was able to catch himself with the table just in time to see his brother's sassy expression. This whole ordeal earned Dean a sharp kick to the shin, but he figured he deserved it, along with the annoyed look Sam sent his way.

Castiel had been about to explain how he escaped Purgatory, but the scuffle of their miniature fight caught his attention.

"What's happening?" he asked aloud, lifting up his chin a little and pointing his face towards the sound. Dean gave Sam's hand a slap and plopped down in the plastic chair, his legs straddling the plastic seat on either side.

"Nothing," he replied, getting another glare from Sam. "What happened in Purgatory?"

Castiel lowered his chin towards the sound of Dean's voice and paused for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed.

"To be perfectly truthful..." He paused, formulating the correct words to execute a response. "...I don't know," he said finally. Dean stared at him.

"What do you mean 'you don't know'?" Dean demanded. "How do you go from stumbling around Purgatory with Leviathans on your tail, to wandering top-side through the middle of Boston, and not know what happened?"

Castiel shrugged, something that astonished Sam a little, and shook his head. "I don't know what happened. It's just like you said. One minute I was hiding from Leviathan, the next, I was in the middle of this city, which you claim is called 'Boston'."

Sam and Dean exchanged puzzled glances. Through their eyes and a series of nods, they had a silent conversation that ended in an equal understanding.

"Cas," Sam interjected, drawing Castiel's attention towards the sound of his voice. "Were you...were you blinded in Purgatory?" he asked. Castiel seemed to freeze for a moment, his blank eyes almost expressing panic. Sam pulled another chair over to their little huddle and settled down next to his brother.

"Cas?" he started, reaching forward to touch Castiel's shoulder.

"No!" Castiel exclaimed suddenly, his voice a little frantic. "I-I mean... No, I don't think I was blinded in Purgatory," he said, clearing his throat and trying to regain his composure. For the second time, Sam and Dean exchanged glances; worried ones.

"Dean, can I talk to you for a second?" Sam said, nodding to his brother. Dean shrugged but obliged, standing and walking over to a potted tree a few feet away. Sam followed suit.

"What?" Dean said once his brother joined him. Sam glanced back over his shoulder at Castiel then back to Dean.

"Do you think Cas is...a little off?" he inquired. Dean gave him the most incredulous look he could muster.

"No, I think it's perfectly normal that my best friend is suddenly BLIND," Dean retorted. "Yes, Sammy, I think he's a little off! His eyes don't freaking work anymore!"

"Dean, that's not what I meant," Sam said. "He seems a little more, I dunno, emotional?"

"Don't be stupid, Sam," Dean said. "Angels can't feel." Sam sensed a hint of remorse underlying in his last remark, but chose not to ask about it. Dean fixed his jacket and turned harshly, walking back to where Castiel was seated with long strides.

"Come on, Cas. Let's go," he said, patting Castiel's shoulder. Castiel jumped at the sudden, unexpected contact, his head tilting upwards to the direction in which Dean's voice had come from. He nodded, feeling safe with Dean's hand on his shoulder.

Placing both hands on either side of the chair he was seated in, Castiel pushed himself up into a standing position, but tumbled forward into the table. He made a tiny noise of surprise and Dean came to his aid immediately, grabbing his elbows and helping him to stand.

"You okay?" Dean asked once he seemed steady on his feet. Castiel nodded.

"Yes, thank you, Dean." The angel stuck out his hands in the air, roaming the space around him for something solid to grab onto. The first solid thing he touched turned out to be Dean, and upon making contact with the hunter's warm chest, his fingers flitted away immediately.

Dean tensed at the feeling of Castiel's oddly dainty fingers upon his chest. They were only there for a brief moment, but it was enough to make Dean's mind race with a billion things. The fingers were warm and very light, rather un-manly for a being that possessed a very masculine form. Time seemed to slow a little and Dean's attention was drawn to Castiel's hands. Small and careful, the fingers curling ever-so-often. Dean had the prints seared into his flesh, but he'd never stopped to observe the source. He found it, bizarrely calming.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, shaking Dean from his inner thoughts. Dean blinked distractedly, looking down at Cas, only to discover the palest hints of pink along his cheekbones and dotting his nose. Dean looked at Sam in bewilderment, but Sam returned with an expression of equal confusion and shrugged.

"Whatever, it's fine," Dean said. "Now, let's head back to the car." He put an arm around Cas' shoulders, pulling the dirty angel close. He claimed he was only helping Castiel to walk when Sam made a joking remark, but nonetheless, Castiel allowed himself a tiny smile and discreetly cuddled into Dean's lazy embrace.

"Don't you worry, Cas," Dean said reassuringly. "I'll be your eyes."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too happy with how the end of this turned out, or really this chapter at all. But alas, plot points must be written and published, and as much as I would like to delete this chapter, I cannot. Please bear with me through this.

_Castiel stumbled through a bush, tripping over an awkwardly placed root and falling onto his front with so much propulsion, he winded himself. Gasping for air, he scrambled desperately to his feet, glancing over his shoulder in panic. Foul hissing noises and terrible growls accompanied the sound of something big crashing through the underbrush behind him. Something big and angry._

_His eyes wide with terror, Castiel turned and ran. He ran as fast as his vessel would allow him; tripping over rocks and tumbling down into ditches, but never stopping. Even when poor Jimmy Novak's lungs screamed for air, even when his legs felt heavier than lead, even when his brain sobbed for oxygen so desperately that the world began to swim, he never stopped. But, despite his seemingly inexhaustible determination and will, there was only so much his body could take. The tears had already begun, his speed was slowing rapidly and his breathing had become so strained that he felt as if he was inhaling shards of glass._

_The terrible sounds of the monster on his tail had increased in both volume and multitude. It seemed that whatever it was, there was more than one and they were gaining on him steadily. Finally, after one last leap, his legs gave out and he collapsed onto the ground; his breath heaving and his vision so blurry it hurt to move his eyes. The reason why he hadn't teleported originally escaped him, but there was no hope for it now. There was no way he could even consider summoning what remained of his angelic power to do anything, let alone teleport him somewhere._

_The ground beneath his ear rumbled with the pounding of many nearing feet. Judging by the amount of thuds that echoed into his ear, whatever was pursuing him was in a pack of at least five or maybe six and they were closing in with every second._

_Before long they were on top of him. He could hear their ragged breaths and shuffling feet as one of the monsters approached him, bending over his body. A cruel face leered at him from above; thin, pinched and grinning the most awful of grins. It appeared to be a woman; maybe the leader?_

_"Is it him? Gotta make sure before we hand him over," a gravely voice demanded, drifting over to Castiel from an unseen speaker. The woman suddenly seized the top of his head, shoving her thumb against the flesh above his eye and dragging it upwards. She peered into the whites of his eyes, her oddly clean fingernails digging into his skin. After a painful moment, she pursued her lips but seemed satisfied with her observation._

_"Yeah, it's him," she said in an accent he couldn't quite place; maybe Spanish. She whipped her hand away from his face as if he was covered in slime, and pulled herself back up to her full height, glaring at him from her new perspective._

_"Get him up," she hissed, nodding to some others that were out of Cas' view. Castiel felt rough hands yank him off the ground by the collar and drag him into a mostly standing position. Before he had time to look around, his hands and feet were being bound and he was tossed over someone's shoulder like a sack of flour._

_He wasn't sure if he was thankful for the position he found himself in, but despite being upside down, he was mostly able to take note of his surroundings._

_The monsters that had captured him didn't really seem like monsters at all upon first glance. He was surrounded by what appeared to be a team of humans, all dressed in crisp suits and shiny shoes. They looked as if they'd just stepped out of a business meeting._

_From the angle he was observing from, he counted five members that he could see, but knew that overall there were approximately seven; including the one carrying him and the woman whom he'd been inspected by. The activities of one of the monsters caught his attention._

_An Asian male, perhaps no more than twenty-six years of age, was rubbing a finger over what appeared to be a gash in his cheek. Another, possibly a Scandinavian female, looked at him with what could have been concern._

_"How did you get that?" she inquired, looking at the cut with interest. The male cringed._

_"It was one of those bloody branches," he cursed, sporting a British accent. The female beside him grinned cruelly. He returned with childishly smearing his blood on her arm. Castiel suppressed a gasp as he got a proper look at the blood, which didn't even appear to be blood at all. It was a revoltingly unmistakable black goo._

_Castiel had been captured by Leviathans._

_"Stop it. Now," the Spanish female barked, retreating to glare at the two Leviathans that had begun to bicker. They ceased snarling at each other immediately, nodding their heads in obedience. Castiel noticed that the Leviathan carrying him had slowed slightly and before he could think over what he was about to do, his body took action._

_He began to thrash quite suddenly, coming as close to his full senses as was possible. The Leviathan holding him immediately tightened its grip on his legs and hollered incomprehensibly at the leader. Castiel heard snarling and a sharp slap before he found himself face to face with a pair of pinstripe-clad legs. Then, with a crunch and a cracking pain to his skull, the world went black._

* * *

 

_"Was he alone when you found him?"_

_"Yes, sir. No other hostiles within sixteen meters of the ambush."_

_Castiel opened one bleary eye, his head throbbing with a pain he didn't even know was possible. In front of him, a tall Leviathan eyed him with his arms crossed. Only the Spanish female accompanied him; the other six were nowhere to be seen. The Leviathan before him, most likely be another person of importance, was a younger looking male. Fluffy blonde hair, a sharp jawline and broad shoulders; all around handsome. But, visible behind his clear blue eyes was a burning flame of evil and hatred._

_The Leviathan smirked, approaching Castiel in a predatory fashion. As he neared, Castiel realized that he was held in restraints; angel restraints upon closer inspection, and was chained up to a very large tree. Processing that struggle was futile, Castiel's muscles relaxed against his chains and he looked up to face his challenger._

_In the time it took for Castiel to assess his situation, the Leviathan had stepped close enough to him that Castiel was forced to crane his neck upwards to look at him properly._

_"Hello, Castiel. Do you remember me?" the Leviathan asked in an almost friendly manner. Castiel simply stared at him. The Leviathan grimaced._

_"No, I don't think you would. I was, after all, only a lowly henchman of the Leviathan you knew as Richard Roman." He glared down at Castiel with a furious passion in his eyes. "To you, my dear, I probably occupied no more than a pinkie toe's worth in your mind."_

_The Leviathan ran a hand along the underside of Castiel's chin with a gentle caress, but Castiel could do nothing but submit to his mock gentility. Suddenly, the hand became stiff and Castiel felt a sharp pain flash across his cheek as his head was forced sideways._

_"Can't say I've missed you," the Leviathan hissed, his borrowed face twisting into a horrible sneer. Castiel crushed his eyes shut tightly, preparing for the impending torture he knew was about to come, but instead he heard the Leviathan speak again, his voice a little farther away._

_"That's a bit of a lie, actually," the Leviathan was saying as Castiel opened his eyes tentatively. "I do miss tormenting your dreams at night. You have the sweetest screams."_

_Castiel swallowed heavily, the memories of the awful, terrifying nightmares he'd endured resurfacing. The Leviathan read his face easily and threw his head back with a laugh._

_"Positively adorable!" he said mockingly. "I'm rather tempted to make you scream again; mind if I do? For old times sake?"_

_The Leviathan lunged forward and dove his hand into Castiel's chest, twisting it sharply. Cas' eyes flashed open and his back arched upwards, his lips falling open to let out a piercing scream of agony, sears of white hot pain flowing through his veins. The Leviathan cackled horribly, curling his fingers inside Castiel's body and sending him into another world of unfathomable pain. Castiel's screams seemed to rock the trees and shake the ground; a miserable wail of anguish. Tears began to form in his eyes, clenched tightly as they were, and slipped down the sides of his filthy cheeks._

_But then the pain was gone as quickly as it had come, and Castiel was blinking with confusion as the face of his torturer swam into view._

_"You're probably wondering who I am," the Leviathan mused, inspecting the blood dripping down his fingers so calmly it seemed like he was looking at nothing more significant than soap bubbles._

_"Although, even if I told you my name, it wouldn't mean anything to you," he said in a lazy voice. "But do know that even Crowley, yes your little demon friend, fears me. After you and your pesky, human companion killed Dick Roman, we were sent spiralling back here to this dump. The rest of my kind were scrambling, in need of a leader. Naturally, I saw myself fit for the task and rose to lead them. Quickly, we learned that upon beheading Mr. Roman, you and that nasty little cockroach you call a friend had been sent here by the same train as us. Ah, yes, that was a pleasant surprise. But then our spies said that your human lover escaped through a portal, leaving you behind. No wonder he did; you're pathetic, loathsome, weak and wretched." He stepped closer to the chained angel, reading the panic, the fear and the hopelessness in his eyes._

_"I'm going to kill you, Castiel," the Leviathan snarled, digging his hands back inside Castiel's body. Cas moaned, his voice bordering on another scream. "I'm going to kill you slowly, savoring every moment of your pain." Castiel gasped for breath, his eyes flashing open and full of fear._

_"Are you curious to know how I'm managing to hurt you? You are an 'Angel of the Lord' after all." The Leviathan willed his body to alter and Castiel screamed afresh as the Leviathan's nails grew into claws inside his chest. "Would you like to know?"_

_Castiel stared into the Leviathan's eyes, his own gaping and terrified. It took all the strength he could muster to shake his head a tiny fraction, sending a fresh river of tears over his grime covered cheeks. The Leviathan laughed, a terrible cackle that shook Cas to the bones._

_"This place was made for us, Castiel," the Leviathan said softly. "We have power here. It wasn't built for angels, so it's not adapted to accommodate all of your skills." The Leviathan then frowned, surprisingly, and removed its hand from Castiel's chest for the second time._

_"Unfortunately, your precious Daddy made sure your healing abilities are always intact," he growled. "But that means I have more time to rip out your entrails, one by one." This renewed the Leviathan's sick joy and it grinned, hissing menacingly, its hot breath pungent and stale against Castiel's cheek._

_Cas shut his eyes, letting the tears overwhelm him as he braced for the pain, his fingers gripping the fabric of his coat. His front was drenched in blood and he could feel it trickling down his legs and along the exposed flesh of his ankles. He felt the Leviathan's fingers upon his thigh and twitched violently as they began to walk up his leg, almost in a sensual manner._

_"Hmm, which organ first?" The Leviathan purred, placing his mouth next to Castiel's ear. Its finger prodded a section just below Cas' ribcage. "A kidney?" Castiel shook his head, sobbing as silently as he could._

_"Or perhaps..." The finger became a claw, which then became five. They slid across Castiel's abdomen until they came to rest by his gut._

_"...the liver?"_

_Castiel had no time to register before the Leviathan's claws pushed once again into his body. He screamed anew, writhing and trembling. He had experienced pain, oh yes, but never had anything physically inflicted hurt him so badly._

_Suddenly there was a deafening bang, a crash and a shriek. The Leviathan that held Cas captive glanced around behind himself, distracted from his torturous task._

_"What was that?!" it roared. However, Castiel didn't get to see what the response was because he closed his eyes so tightly it was as if he was willing his eyelids to fuse together._

_Wallowing in the pain that now throbbed in his body like a second heartbeat, Castiel began to mentally prepare himself for the end. He began with apologies; to the angels, to heaven, to Sam. But most of all, he apologized to Dean. Over and over again, he cried out for Dean Winchester. He sobbed the words 'I'm sorry' endlessly, the crashing and screaming about him tuned out almost completely until he realized that there was silence._

_Silence and a soft hand upon his chest. A hand that healed his wounds and pressed itself gently onto his cheek._

_"Castiel."_

_'No, please.'_

_"Castiel, open your eyes. It's over."_

_'Please, no more. No more. Just kill me.'_

_"Castiel. I'm here to help. You're safe now."_

_His eyes filled with light, blinding and somewhat grey, but brilliant all the same as he peeked through his eyelids. Castiel winced at the light, shutting his eyes again. A voice came, speaking softly; the same voice as before._

_"I'm here to help you. There will be no more pain." The voice sounded feminine, but deep and old as it resonated through Castiel's mind. Cringing at the brightness of the sky, Cas tried opening his eyes again. Blinking rapidly, he squinted through the light as the fuzzy shape of a person began to take form in front of him. After a few seconds, the person came into focus. A woman._

_"There you go," the woman said with a smile. "Not too hard." She had large black eyes, filled with age and memory that seemed out of place in the youthful portrait of her dark skin. Hugged on either side by copious amounts of brown hair that tumbled about in tight curls, her cheeks were rounded delightfully in an upturned grin. Her attire seemed too clean for Purgatory. Her entire being was just out of place._

_However, what stood out most for Castiel was what shimmered behind her face._

_"You're a reaper," he croaked out._

_The woman grinned_.

"Cas?"

"Cas!"

Castiel seized up and he threw out his arms defensively. His eyes snapped open, expecting to see the cruel sneer of a Leviathan, but instead they saw nothing. He let out a weary but thankful sigh and allowed his body to relax, discovering that he was bundled up in warm cushy fabric. Suddenly he felt a cloth press itself onto his forehead, the pressure of careful fingers felt through the softness of it.

"Dean?" Cas asked aloud, realizing as he did so that his voice was weak and beyond tired.

"Cas, thank god," Dean said, his relief evident. He crumpled the towel he was using to wipe away the sweat from Castiel's brow in his hand and gently turned Castiel's face towards him.

"Jesus dude, are you okay?"

As Castiel's face was turned, a light that had only been a mere glow in what remained of his peripheral vision morphed into an intensely bright miniature sun. Castiel cringed at it, bringing up his hands to cover his eyes. Seeing Cas' discomfort, Dean became alert immediately.

"What, what's the matter? Are you in pain? What's going on?" he said, a flurry of words tumbling out of his mouth in a landslide.

"The light," Castiel said weakly, cowering behind his hands. "The light. Turn it off, please."

"Just hold on, I've got it," Dean said hurriedly, jumping up from his chair and plunging the room into darkness with a click. He tiptoed back to the chair and returned to his seat as quietly as he could, considering the ancient creaking it made whenever the person sitting in it moved.

"Is that better, buddy?" Dean asked, his voice low. Castiel's eyes felt cool and calmer now that it was dark; he smiled.

"Yes, thank you," he whispered back, finding that whispering was easier to do than regular speaking. He then realized that he didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten there. However, Dean was with him, so he knew he was safe.

"Where am I, Dean?" he asked.

"The Men of Letters' bunker," Dean replied dutifully. "

"A bunker?"

"Yeah, Sammy and I found it a few weeks back. It's warded from every monster, angel and demon everywhere. It's the safest place in the world and we've been living here for a while now. The Men of Letters were a secret society back in the day. They were kinda like hunters, but they just gathered information instead of ganking the suckers."

Castiel nodded silently in the dark, his eyes staring up at the ceiling as he absorbed the information. His world was dark, darker than the darkest nights before creation; but he was not afraid. He reached out a tentative hand and felt the air around the space Dean was talking in. He found Dean's hand, curled lazily in a loose fist on the edge of what he assumed was the mattress. Before Dean realized what was happening, Castiel slid his fingers between the hunter's, feeling their warmth and security.

"There you are," Cas whispered, almost to himself. Dean's fingers tensed within his own and, sensing discomfort, Castiel drew away quickly.

"Sorry," he said, feeling ashamed. He should of asked first; instead, he'd gotten ahead of himself and probably freaked Dean out. He shifted away from the side of the bed he knew Dean was on as best he could, but his body was so stiff. He could barely move himself at all and when he tried, it hurt. Before he could stop himself, he let out a high-pitched groan of pain. Beside him, and still bewildered, Dean jumped up immediately and scrambled to Cas' aid.

"Cas! What happened? Where does it hurt?" he demanded.

"Everywhere," Castiel gasped, his eyes watering. Why was he in pain now? He had been fine earlier. Dean switched from worried to panicked and it showed on his face, though Castiel didn't know it.

"Hold on!" Dean exclaimed. "I'll go get you some...Advil or something. Do angels even take Advil?" Castiel heard the scuffling of socked feet on wood and then on tiles as Dean dashed out into the hall.

"Dean..." Cas called out, his voice exhausted. He groped the air blindly, searching for something to grab onto. However, Dean didn't hear him and started to yell for Sam.

"Sam! Can you-"

"Dean!" Castiel attempted to cry out, but it came as more of a loud croak. "Dean!"

Dean turned and dashed back into the room where Castiel was.

"What?" He asked, a little more hastily than he'd intended.

"Come here," Castiel said, beckoning him with a tired hand. Dean obeyed and pulled up his chair from before, but he didn't sit in it.

"I don't need medication, it won't work," Cas said wearily. "I just need rest and some water."

Dean exhaled loudly, placing a hand to his forehead. Sam was right; he needed to calm down. All he'd done since they found Cas was run around frantically, panicking and making every little thing into something much bigger than it was.

Behind him, he heard the rapid sound of feet hitting the tiled floor of the hall. Sam nearly fell through the doorway as Dean turned around, his eyes wide and urgent.

"Dean, what's happening?" he gasped, catching his breath. Dean looked down at the floor, lowering his eyes slowly.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. Can you please get Cas some water?" he said quietly. Sam gave him an odd look, but nodded nonetheless.

"Uh...sure," he said, his eyes flickering between the bedridden angel and his brother. Making a mental note to ask them about it later, he turned and began down to the kitchen. Once the sound of his feet dissipated into silence, Dean turned back to Cas.

"I'm sorry," he said, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. Castiel shook his head, though it was difficult to see him do so in the darkness.

"There is nothing you need to apologize for," Castiel assured him. "I'm thankful that you are so eager to care for me. If anything, I should be the one apologizing."

Dean gave him a quizzical look, forgetting that he couldn't see it. "What? Why?"

"I intruded on your 'personal space', as you call it. I shouldn't have touched you."

At the mention of the awkward moment they'd shared minutes before, Dean tensed once again. He hadn't said anything, but the feeling of Castiel's fingers intertwined with his own had been one of the best things he'd ever felt, but something in his mind forced him to believe that it was wrong. He didn't want it to be wrong.

"W-whatever," Dean said. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers slightly. The two sat in an awkwardly pregnant silence that lasted for an achingly long time, until it was thankfully broken by Sam returning with a glass of water clutched in his grasp and a bizarre expression on his face.

"I've brought the wate-"

"Thanks, Sam," Dean interjected, standing up quite suddenly. He took the glass from Sam's hand and placed it on the table beside the head of Cas' bed with a klunk. He then turned back to his brother and muttered into his ear.

"Help Cas drink, I've got some stuff to take care of." He patted Sam's back appreciatively and proceeded to troop out the door without another word. Sam stared at where he'd disappeared pointedly, attempting to connect the impossibly unrelated dots that created the scenario he found himself in. Obviously there was something he missed.

Shrugging slightly, he seated himself in the chair Dean had so recently vacated and reached for Castiel's arm, lying as if discarded on the mattress. As he put his hand over the angel's he felt the body beneath his appendage flinch.

He was beyond confused at this point. Not only had Dean been yelling frantically for him only minutes before but now he was being instructed to give an angel (who was clearly in a great deal of pain) water to drink. To top it all off, Castiel looked as if he was about to cry; only fueling the underlying suspicion he had tried to voice to Dean in the mall. Something was definitely very, very wrong with this situation. But for now, he needed to pretend that there wasn't. He was shaken from his momentary monologue by the broken sound of Castiel's voice.

"Sam?"

Sam's hand squeezed Castiel's, reassuring him that he was still there. "Yeah?"

Cas took a deep breath and, with slow, calculated movements, shifted himself into a different position, bracing himself against the pain. It still bewildered him as to why he was in pain in the first place. The way he'd set himself up made it almost seem like he was looking inquisitively at Sam.

"Is it alright if someone cries in front of their close friends if they've experience prolonged emotional pain?"

Sam furrowed his eyebrows together. "Um...yeah? Why?" Instead of replying, Castiel astonished Sam by letting two tears slide out of the corners of his eyes.

"Cas?! Wha-"

"Promise to keep this from Dean, and I will tell you," Castiel interrupted quietly, the tear tracks on his face glistening in the low light from the hallway.

"Keep what from Dean?" Sam demanded. Castiel sighed.

"Please, Sam. Dean must not know a single word we exchange in this room. For his sake."

Sam made a frustrated sound, debating whether or not he should comply. But, he eventually gave in to both his curiosity and concern and stood up from the chair, closing the door with a soft click. Despite how often he seemed to do it, he hated keeping secrets from his brother. But, Cas had never made such a request before. On the contrary, he usually encouraged that they keep each other in the loop.

"I promise not to tell Dean," he said. "Now will you tell me what's going on?" he asked, returning to his spot by the bed. It was now completely dark inside the small room, but years of hunting had trained his eyes well.

"Water...water first," Castiel said said hoarsely, trying to find the glass Dean had set beside him. Sam nodded and leaned forward, placing his hand flush against Castiel's back to help him raise from the mattress. Propping him up with pillows, Sam straightened his coverlet and reached for the glass. Guiding Cas' hand to the cup, he aided him to bring it to his mouth, tipping the cold fluid into his mouth carefully. Castiel drank readily and the water disappeared quickly. In a short manner of seconds, the glass was being returned to its place on the table, empty.

"Okay, Cas. What's this about?" Sam demanded, lacing his hands together and preparing to listen. Castiel exhaled audibly, calming himself.

"I made myself blind on purpose, Sam."

Sam stared at him incredulously, waiting, as Dean had done before, for some sort of jest. But Cas was not going to give one. He simply looked at the opposite wall, his eyes as empty as the water glass.

Oblivious to Sam's horrified gaze, Castiel finally gave in and let the tears he been holding back fall.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam stared at Castiel incredulously. Of all the things he could have prepared himself for, a sobbing angel was not one of them. He wanted to reach out to him, to comfort Cas the way he should, but he was too dumbfounded by Castiel's confession to move or make coherent thoughts.

So, sitting propped up by pillows and wallowing in tears, Castiel let his sorrow leak out if him. He had always been fascinated by human emotion, but the way it now fluctuated and throbbed inside him brought the reality of its true complexity to light. He was so confused; emotions this strong and this complicated had never stirred inside him before and he hadn't the faintest idea where they'd come from. Castiel gasped, wishing he could move, wishing he could stand, wishing he could see, if only for long enough to look at the sky. Oh, how he ached for the sky. Eons of clouds, stars, moonbeams and sunsets taunted him mercilessly through his memory, making him wish he hadn't taken his freedom for granted. He felt another wave of tears well up inside his throat, but then he remembered Sam, and the explanation he owed to the younger Winchester boy.

 "Sam," Cas choked out, moving his arm in the direction he knew Sam lay. "Sam, listen to me," he said, searching for the one he spoke to. Castiel's actions dragged Sam out of his shock and he became aware of Cas' hand groping the empty air. Upon instinct, he grabbed it and held it tightly between his hands, squeezing it comfortingly.

"I'm listening," Sam said quietly. Castiel nodded in response, took a deep breath, and began to speak.

* * *

  _"You're a reaper," Castiel croaked out, staring at the woman in wonder. She snorted, but grinned nonetheless._

_"Quick to point out the obvious, I see," she said, placing her hands on her hips. "A 'How do you do' or a 'Thank you' might have been nice."_

_Despite the jab at his manners, Castiel continued to stare at the woman in wonder. "How are you here?" he demanded, though his voice was weak. The reaper scoffed, rolling her eyes and shifting her weight while keeping her hands planted firmly on her broad hips._

_"I'm a reaper sweetie, as you were so eager to define. I have a free pass to everywhere," she said, looking into his eyes. "And, before you ask, I killed the Leviathans already. Don't worry about them."_

_Castiel's attention was drawn to the fact that the Leviathans were gone and that they were surrounded by the unnervingly calm sounds of the forest. He dropped his gaze to the ground behind the reaper and was rendered momentarily speechless by the tidy pile of Leviathan bodies, all headless._

_"My name's Billie in case you were wondering. You're welcome for saving your life," the reaper said in mock-offence. Castiel had no problem with tearing his eyes away from the monsters and returning his gaze to the reaper woman, Billie apparently. She met his eyes with her own dark ones that, despite their endless age, seemed to be smiling at him._

_"Here, let me get you down," she said, approaching him and reaching upwards to unlatch the clasp that bound some of his chains. The close proximity of her rather voluptuous chest didn't bother him in the slightest (it was only a human body after all) and she surely knew this, but it didn't stop her from saying something about it._

_"I hope you don't mind an up-front show," she joked. Castiel, being as ignorant as he was, made no comment in return. Billie made quick work of the chains above his head, the metal rings tumbling down to the ground with an echoing ring. It took her a little longer to get the makeshift shackles off his wrists and ankles, but she managed. The moment his hands were released, they drew together as if magnetized, massaging the red marks the shackles had left behind._

_"Thank you," he gasped, stumbling away from the tree. Billie, who was crouched by the pile of chains, looked up with amusement._

_"Well, don't overdo it," she said sarcastically. Turning back to the metal, the reaper inspected a link that she held between her fingers. Her eyebrows furrowed for a moment before shooting upwards and giving her face an astonished expression._

_"Huh," she said, putting the link into her palm and turning it around in her hand. "These were forged with holy fire," she told Castiel. "And doused with holy oil. No wonder they bound you. But where the hell did they even get this?"_

_"They're angel weapons," Cas supplied, hobbling over to lean on the large tree for support. "More specifically, archangel weapons. The Leviathans must have stolen them, or murdered another of my kin."_

_"Most likely a mixture of the two," Billie said, standing. The link was still in her grasp and it brought the rest of the chains with it, which Billie proceeded to tie up and sling over her shoulder effortlessly. She turned back towards Castiel, her free hand poised on her hip. She eyed his pitiful stance with a grin blooming on her face and planted a friendly pat on the top of his head. Castiel blinked repeatedly with every pat, utterly bewildered by the action._

_"You're such a sweet thing," Billie said. "For an angel anyway."_

_Castiel stared at her for the second time in their brief meeting. He still couldn't place a reason as to why she was in Purgatory, or why she was helping him. Thankfully, he didn't have long to wait until he got an answer._

_"So, how would you like to get out of here?" Billie inquired._

_"Get...get out?" Castiel's shock and confusion must have showed on his face because Billie laughed aloud, her eyes shimmering._

_"Well, why else do you think I'm here?" she laughed. "Of course I'm going to get you out!"_

_"Why would you want to get me out? I thought I was hated," Castiel inquired, giving Billie a look of confusion. Billie's smile didn't falter for a second._

_"Well, you are," she said. Castiel's face fell. "But not everyone is part of that majority," she added hastily. "I'm here on behalf of my boss."_

_Castiel's eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. "Death sent you?" he demanded. Billie nodded._

_"He has a... a soft spot for your Winchester friend. He thinks he needs you," she supplied._

_"Which Winchester?" Castiel breathed. He couldn't believe his ears._

_"The older one; Dean," Billie replied, putting her hands into the pockets of her jeans, shifting her weight back and forth. At the mention of Dean, Castiel's heart quickened its pace. Dean needed him? Could it really be true?_

_"Yes, darling. It's quite true," Billie said. When Castiel gave her a slightly scared look of confusion, she waved her hand absently along with her one-word response of: "Telepathic."_

_"But that's not important right now," she said, turning back to him. "We need to discuss the subject of payment."_

_"P-payment?"_

_"What I'm doing right now is kind of illegal," Billie scoffed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Once something is somewhere, they're supposed to stay put. But you, you aren't supposed to be here. Even so, getting you out isn't going to be cheap. As the humans like to say, 'Everything comes with a price'."_

_Castiel nodded in understanding, but his anxiety didn't falter._

_"But...I don't have anything," he said quietly, looking up at the intimidating woman before him. Billie flicked a curly strand of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear._

_"Don't worry, it doesn't have to be a physical thing. You can give me part of yourself; your voice, for example," she said nonchalantly. However, her possible attempt at reassurance resulted in quite the opposite._

_"How am I supposed to aid Dean if you take my voice?" Castiel asked, unconsciously drawing his hands up to the base of his throat protectively._

_"Well, it doesn't have to be your voice," Billie replied, cocking her head to the side slightly. "It can be an arm, or your ability to walk, or your perception of colour. You know," she said with a shrug. Castiel looked down, his thumbs fiddling with each other as he thought fervently about the subject. Billie too looked down at the ground, but instead of thinking, she tapped the toes of her shoes together and played with her lip, patiently awaiting Castiel's response. The silence exchanged between them lasted an uncomfortably long time, only the sounds of far-off monsters occasionally penetrating the lack of noise. Finally, Castiel spoke, his voice shallow and careful._

_"Take...take my sight," he said quietly, keeping his eyes glued to the ground._

_"Your sight? Are you sure? There's no take-backs."_

_Castiel nodded, though it was barely noticeable and when he spoke, it was hardly more than a whisper._

_"Yes."_

* * *

Dean let out a groan, placing his hand across his brow and leaning against the counter of the kitchen. His hand clenched on the edge of the counter, the ends of his digits pressing into the underside of the marble as he squeezed his eyes shut. The silence around him was overwhelming; a loud, impenetrable echo that magnified his thoughts to a roar inside his brain. 

The day before, he thought he'd known everything about himself. If someone wanted to know who Dean Winchester was, he could have explained himself easily to anyone who would listen. But in that moment, if he was asked the very same question, he wouldn't have been able to say.

Dean's entire, heterosexually 'normal' life came crashing down around him. He'd never doubted his sexuality before --he'd never needed to-- and, frankly, it was scaring him. It wasn't because he felt attracted to a man. It was because he felt attracted to  _Cas._

He'd always loved Cas, but in the same way he loved Sam. It was platonic, a brotherly love, nothing sexual or romantic about it whatsoever. But, was that really true? Why did he all of a sudden feel drawn to the high cheekbones? The short, but muscular build? The pink lips that looked so delicate, so soft...

"Dammit!" Dean yelled, ripping his hand from his brow and balling it into a fist, slamming it down onto the counter next to him with a crash. A neat stack of dishes beside him jumped in sync with his hand as it smashed onto the smooth marble. His hand remained curled tightly for a few moments, but it eventually released itself and fell limp along with the rest of his body. His shoulders sagged and he transferred all of his weight to the counter, almost sitting on it with his head bowed.

"Dammit..." he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracking. The edges of his eyes prickled, becoming hot and uncomfortable. He squeezed them shut, trying to stop what he could feel coming, but although he was mostly successful, he couldn't stop the tears completely.

His hand hurt, he was confused, there were hot tears beading under his lashes and his heart was screaming inside his chest, demanding to be let out. Dean bit his lip, raising his arms to put his face in his hands.

"What's happening to me?"

* * *

"You gave up your sight to a reaper?" Sam demanded, his mind reeling. Castiel nodded shamefully, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of the comforter that lay across his lap. Sam's eyebrows shot up, if possible, even higher on his forehead. He puffed out his cheeks, exhaling with a slight whistle as he carded his fingers through his hair.

"I understand if you think less of me," Cas said solemnly. Sam opened his mouth to retort, his eyes wide with shock, but as Castiel could not see this, he continued.

 "But please know that I would have taken any other path if I had the choice," he said. He braced himself for a scolding, or the slam of a door, but what he received instead gave him quite the shock.

He jumped when he felt Sam's long arms pull him into a tight, brotherly hug; forcing his body forward a little. Unfortunately, this meant that the pain in his chest sparked up once again. He made a small noise, his hand weakly raising to press itself over the pain. Upon hearing the noise, Sam pulled away quickly, his eyes darting about to locate the source of Cas' pain.

"Sorry!" he said hastily. "I forgot." Castiel clenched his eyes shut and held his breath for a second before letting it out in a painful wheeze. 

"Here, let me help you lie down," Sam suggested, placing his hand across Castiel's back. Cas nodded, his clenched hand releasing the fabric of his shirt and reaching up to grasp Sam's elbow for support. Sam evaluated the best way to lower Cas back onto the pillows; concluding that it probably involved standing.

He stood carefully, his hand still against Castiel's shoulder blades, and began to ease his body downwards, pushing the pillows into a better position with his other hand. After a moment or two, Cas was safely nestled between the blankets once again, his head hugged on all sides by the puffy layering of many pillows.

"Thank you," Castiel said gratefully. Sam straightened into a proper standing position and put his hands on his hips.

"You don't need to thank me," he replied. "But you need to start treating yourself decently."

Castiel's face became confused and he turned his head towards the sound of Sam's voice, his eyes the only thing on his face that was blank. 

"Treating myself decently?" he questioned.

"You need to stop assuming that everyone will hate you for something you've done." Sam said simply. Cas' eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to decipher the observation.

"I...I don't understand..."

"Cas," Sam chuckled at the angel's ignorance. "I don't think any less of you because of what you did in Purgatory." he explained. Castiel's face fell into realization and relief.

"You don't?"

Sam laughed again. "Of course not! In fact, I actually think of you more highly than I did before. You sacrificed something important to you in order to return to Dean. That's incredibly noble."

Cas felt a tiny smile pull at the corners of his mouth and he laced his fingers together. 

"So don't worry," Sam reassured him. "We'll keep you."

At that, Castiel broke into a smile, despite the pain that still ached beneath his fingertips. 

"Thank you, Sam."

Sam smiled again --Cas could be very sweet sometimes-- and turned to head out the door. He turned the knob and pulled the door open, stepping through the door frame and turning back to look over his shoulder.

"I'm gonna go see if Dean needs any help, okay? Just call if you need anything."

Cas nodded.

Sam was about to close the door behind himself when Castiel spoke up, calling out to him.

"Sam. Please, don't tell Dean," he said. Sam sighed looking down at the floor, but nodded eventually.

"I promise," he replied. "Now, get some rest." He flashed Castiel one last glance before closing the door with a click.

Stepping away from the door, he ran his hand through his hair for the second time and tucked some of the stray ends behind his ears. He ran the conversation he'd exchanged with Cas over in his brain as he turned, making his way down the hall. The angel's voice still rang in his head, begging him to keep everything from his brother, to keep Dean in the dark. He felt conflicted inside; the two halves of him arguing over how to handle the situation.

One side explained the benefits of telling Dean all that he'd heard and why it was the right thing to do. But the other side argued that he shouldn't betray Cas' trust and that secrets ought to be kept. His internal monologue consumed his senses and he found himself walking towards the kitchen unknowingly, his feet tracing steps he had taken hundreds of times. He opened the door to the kitchen, with half a mind to make himself a coffee but was startled into reality by a noise he hadn't heard in a long time.

Sam's astonished gaze fell on his brother. Dean was using one arm as a beam of support and cupping his face with the other, his body shaking as he fought back confused, angry tears. He hadn't heard Sam enter the kitchen and had yet to put on his 'macho' mirage. 

Sam had heard Dean cry before; when they were kids and sometimes in his sleep, but it had always been tears of sadness. It was evident that these were tears of anger. The only other time Sam had ever heard Dean cry in such a way was right after he'd returned from purgatory. Although Dean had been unaware of Sam's presence, Sam had been close enough to hear him cursing himself for leaving Castiel behind.

He walked towards Dean, his sock covered feet making hardly any sound on the linoleum. As he approached his grief-stricken brother, Sam caught a few words from Dean's lips.

"I'm so fucked up..." Dean murmured, his voice broken and confused. It wrenched at Sam's insides to hear Dean sounding so shattered.

Sam had never really been one for intimate brotherly-love moments, but he quickly found himself enveloping Dean in his arms before any other thoughts could cross his mind.

In curious parallel to Cas' reaction to being hugged, Dean jumped when he felt the unexpected sensation of his brother's warmth. A trillion panicked reactions catalogued the feeling -was it an attack?- but Dean was so muddled in every way that all he could muster was a feeble attempt at pushing Sam off, which only made Sam hug him even tighter.

Sam wanted to say something, to reassure him, but nothing suitable came to mind. All he could think of to say was only a hopeful mimic of the movies he'd had the rare chance to watch.

"Shh…" he tried, hugging the stiff Dean closer. "It's only me."

Upon hearing Sam's voice, Dean's entire being relaxed and he let out a shaky breath as he seemed to melt into silent tears. Sam glanced down at him worriedly and decided that it was a fitting time to ask what was going on.

"Hey," he said softly, releasing Dean from his arms and sitting down on the edge of the counter beside him, one arm still thrown over his older brother's shoulders.

"What's the matter?"

Instead of replying, Dean pulled himself away from Sam, stood, and hid his face, trying to wipe at his tears as inconspicuously as possible.

"N-nothing," he lied, clearing his throat. Much to Sam's annoyance, he was embarrassed at being found in such a vulnerable state and, to deal with it, had decided to act as if it hadn't happened.

"I...I think I'm coming down with a cold," he said to excuse his sniffling. Sam rolled his eyes.

"You're not getting out of this Dean," he said, crossing his arms as he watched his brother pace slowly around the kitchen, his back turned. He waited a few seconds, expecting Dean to say something, but when he remained silent, Sam pushed him again.

"Dean," he said, his voice bordering on annoyance. "Dean, unless you tell me what's going on, nothing is going to get better."

"It CAN'T!" Dean exploded suddenly, causing Sam to jump. He whirled around to face his younger brother, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Nothing is going to get better, Sam, because it can't! What little good that was left in the world is fucking gone forever and there's no way to get it back!"

"What--"

"Cas' eyes, Sam! They've been destroyed! The last beautiful thing in this goddamned world has been fucking shattered and we haven't got the glue to fix it! And now I'm all fucked up inside and I...I just..."

Dean faltered, stumbling into one of the chairs situated around the counter and placed his face into his hands. Sam stared at him incredulously, replaying the words he'd just heard over and over in his head, ringing with new truths every time. He had always suspected that Dean had held an underlying emotion for Cas, something he didn't share with anyone else, but he'd be lying if he said that Dean's comment didn't shock him.

He suddenly understood what Death had meant when he sent the reaper to save Cas. Dean didn't need Cas because he was a valuable asset to their team, or because he was resourceful, or for any of the other things Sam's mind had suggested. Dean needed Cas because, otherwise  he was lost. Dean needed him to be strong, to be brave and, in Sam's opinion, because he loved him.

Sam thought back to the way Cas had desperately begged him not to relay the information he had shared to Dean and one more piece of the puzzle fell into place. Cas hadn't been eager to sell his sight so that he could return and help. He wanted to come back to Dean, and only Dean.

Sam stood from his perch on the counter and made his way over to Dean. He placed his broad hand over Dean's back as he lowered himself into a squatting position.

"Things will get better, Dean," he said quietly. 

"I promise."

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning to those with depression or anxiety or any other forms of mental/mood disorders this chapter may be triggering. I myself have depression and the way it's described in this chapter is based on my own interpretations of the emotional mess I live with. I deeply apologize if it induces anything negative or causes any of my readers to feel upset. Please take caution if you are sensitive to intense emotional distress.

In the weeks following Castiel's rescue, life inside the bunker eased into a near normalcy --although slowly. It was difficult at first; Sam and Dean kept forgetting that Castiel couldn't see what they were talking about or gesturing to, and things kept falling or breaking. But, they eventually got the hang of it. Nearly two months had passed since Castiel's 'episode'. Although his strangely sudden bout of pain had ended rather quickly, he still felt occasional tremors of its past presence, keeping those who occupied the bunker on their toes.

Castiel had mapped the interior of the bunker completely and had committed it to memory, making it slightly easier for him to move around. He'd place his hand on the right wall and follow it around corners and through doors until he arrived at his destination, although stairs were a bit of a problem. He struggled through everyday tasks, relearning how to do the simplest of things with the help of Dean mostly. Whenever Cas had trouble finding something, or was afraid to use something, lest he break it, Dean would reassure him and patiently teach him how to make whatever it was function.

These small exchanges meant a great deal to Dean and they granted him chances to examine his feelings and newfound attractions. Though he was still hesitant about his feelings for Cas --which he had discovered ran far deeper than he'd expected-- he wasn't about to let himself be conquered by them. He also discovered that, unlike the kinds of attraction he'd felt before, he was mesmerized by tiny things; things he'd noticed before, but never really understood the extent of their power over him.

He noticed how Cas would sometimes bite the inside of his bottom lip when he was thinking, how he would trace the lip of a glass carefully before he drank from it, or how he would fiddle with the edge of his shirt when he was nervous; little things that had no significance in the grand scheme of the world, but meant everything to Dean in his own little universe. What he noticed the most though, was how Cas seemed to have flickers of emotion that would be stifled quickly. They had been scarce at first, but over time, there had been more and more little bursts and he appeared to be having increasing difficulty in hiding them.

In the fourth week of living in the bunker, Cas had become frustrated when he couldn't figure out how to use scissors and had slammed them down onto the table in defeat, but as soon as he'd realized what he'd done, he pretended to have dropped them. Cas was unaware that Dean had noticed such things, but then again, he knew that Dean didn't notice a lot of things.

Though he hid it from the others, Castiel was secretly flustered by Dean teaching him to do things. He would sometimes pretend that he couldn't do something just to feel Dean moving his hands for him, just to hear the smooth, instructive voice. He would be particularly thrilled by Dean's melodious laugh when he did something he was sure looked silly. Dean's laugh, as it didn't sound very often, was something Castiel treasured in his memory. But, as much as he loved the feeling he got when these small interactions were exchanged, he was still as confused as ever. His sudden ability to feel human emotion fully still bewildered him and often left him stranded on islands of confusion when his feelings ran away with him.

He could feel happiness, relief, exhilaration and love; but he could also feel longing (both passionate and hurtful), emptiness, depression and anger. Even though he did feel happy and loved at times, those moments were rare sunflowers in the dreary desert of his sorrow. He discovered quickly that negative emotions were far more prominent in his newfound world of feeling, and they also seemed to be the ones that lingered. As invisible as tiny fragments of dust, they hid in his subconscious long after the initial blow of the original emotion, but cut him deeply once they were uncovered by accident. Castiel concealed his developing mindset from Sam and Dean; hoping to prevent any awkward or negative encounters. However, in his ignorance, Cas didn't know how much worse his depression became from hiding it. It grew from a mere flotsam in his ocean of thought to a massive iceberg of which he'd barely explored the surface.

Holes in his core that had once been mere pockets of sadness tunnelled throughout his entire being, blossoming into caverns of sorrow; their very walls wrought with despair. He unwittingly carved at them endlessly, only to discover himself in places so deeply ensnared, he could barely even hope to claw himself out. It was in these moments that he fled from the ever-present company of the Winchester brothers to his own chambers. If they asked, he explained with that he was tired and they would leave him in what they believed was peace, but it was indeed quite the opposite.

He would seat himself in the creaky old armchair Dean had placed by the window -his room was the only one with such a thing- and he would position his face towards whatever daylight would reach his eyes. The window was tiny, measuring only one square foot; but it was enough. The scarce shred of light that filtered into his room was the only thing that seemed to be able to console him in his darkest moments. He would open the window, even on the coldest days, just to feel the air on his cheeks and to smell the earth. Sometimes this worked to calm him, but other times, it would only make him sadder, angrier, lonlier.

Castiel would sometimes collapse into his chair, shaking and crying; wanting nothing more than to find an angel blade and tear gashes into himself. Sometimes he would smash a pillow repeatedly between his hands, biting his lip so hard to keep from screaming that he punctured it more than once. He would come into his tiny room to vent his anger and his sadness, thankful for a private place to explode. But, despite how awful his breakdowns were when he was distraught or furious, nothing was quite like the times he felt nothing. His 'days of grey' --as he called them-- were the worst of all his days. He would sit in his chair, his angel blade resting on his lap, and would bury himself in his mind. He would watch as the memory of his torture replayed in horrifying detail so intense that he swore he could smell the rancid stench of Purgatory on him. As the miniature film of terror played on repeat in his brain, he would seem to leave his body, to become detatched from it. In his mind he would remember the trauma, the fear and the pain in their full force, but his mind seemed to be a separate thing from his body. It would sit completely still without a single sign that mirrored the empty pain he felt. It was as if he was feeling every terrible thing he could possibly feel, but feeling nothing at the same time and it terrified him. Unfortunately, it was on one of these days that Dean found him.

It was a Tuesday and the sun was setting, casting the beginnings of its last rays over the hood of the Impala. There were the forebodings of rain gathering in the east in the shape massive clouds so dark that they almost seemed black. Sam tapped his fingers impatiently on the roof of the car, listening to the sound of Dean gathering plastic bags from the backseat below him.

"Dean, just give me the key," he said, his voice laced with annoyance.

"Just a second!" Dean replied, his head still stuck inside the car. Sam rolled his eyes and flicked hair out of his face, silently praising himself for the level of sass he'd managed to achieve in that one sweeping movement. Too bad Dean had missed it.

At the same moment the thought crossed Sam's mind, Dean emerged from the back of the Impala, his arms laden with white plastic bags. "Here," he said, tossing Sam the key to the bunker with his one, mostly free hand as he juggled the bags in his arms. He backed away from the car and shut the open door with such an impressive swing of his hip that Sam raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Training for the ballet, Potter?" he teased in a mock British accent so bad it was cringe-worthy. Dean stuck his nose in the air with an astonishing amount of snobbery as he cavorted around the front of the Impala, his walk exhibiting as much 'grace' as was possible in the situation.

"It's for Broadway, Sam," he preached in a falsetto voice. "And you'll be invited once you stop quoting Harry Potter at me." He swished past his younger brother on near tip-toes and pranced over to the entrance to the bunker, throwing his head over his shoulder to give Sam a demanding look. In response, Sam hid the key behind his back and cocked one eyebrow.

"The password, Mr. Potter," he said, still using the awful British accent; although, this time he seemed to be imitating McGonnagall rather than Malfoy.

"Password?" Dean inquired, evidently confused. "Password for what?"

"Dumbledore's office," Sam replied playfully. Dean's shoulders sagged slightly and a near-pained expression welded itself to his face.

"Seriously? Do you expect me to remember the password to Dumbledore's office?"

"I'm waiting, Potter."

"Ugh, fine." Dean rolled his eyes before closing them to think, his eyelids scrunched together.

"Is it...licorice-something?"

Sam laughed. "Well, you got the candy part right," he supplied. Dean groaned and resumed his ponderings, although with contempt. After nearly a solid minute, he let out a long breath and turned back to Sam.

"Just open the door, Sam!" he said, unwilling to directly admit his defeat. Sam laughed again, but complied, walking towards the door with long strides and bending over to stick the key into the slot.

"It's 'sherbert lemon' by the way," he said as he turned the key with a clunk. Dean rolled his eyes again and shoved past Sam onto the inner landing, pretending to be more annoyed than he actually was.

"What are these things again?" he called up to Sam as he made his way down the stairs into the main room of the bunker. Sam -who was locking the door behind himself- looked down over his shoulder at Dean who was pulling a few things from one of the bags still in his arms.

"Audio books," he replied, tucking the key into the palm of his hand and turning towards the stairs.

"Audio books," Dean echoed, inspecting one with curiosity before placing it back into the bag. He looked up and glanced around the bunker, only slightly surprised to find it empty.

"Hey, where's Cas?" he asked, without turning as Sam arrived on the bottom step.

"Probably in his room," Sam said, snatching one of the bags Dean held as he walked past.

"Hey-"

"This is the food bag," Sam interjected, holding it up (it looked oddly tiny in his grasp). "I'm going to put it away."

Dean nodded absently, turning away from Sam and trooping through the open doorway that led to the branching hallways of the bunker. "Don't put the coffee in the fridge again," he called. "It makes it taste stale."

"Whatever you say!" Sam replied, his voice muffled by the walls separating the kitchen from the hallway. Dean chuckled, rooting through the bags again as he made his way toward the room Castiel had claimed as his own.

Because of Cas' blind state, the three of them had agreed that it was probably safest for Cas to remain in the sanctuary of the bunker when Sam and Dean left. The issue of Abaddon had resulted in them staying home more than they would usually, as they needed to research how to properly kill the knight of hell. However, they did still leave for days to work on cases, though Dean tried to keep their overnight excursions to a minimum. He wouldn't give a straight answer as to why, but Sam had a pretty good guess.

Dean rounded a corner and hopped up a few steps, a happy little bubble forming inside his chest. He couldn't wait to show Cas the audio books he'd bought. He knew how much Cas liked listening to the television and to the radio, so when he discovered them online, he'd been incredibly eager to buy them. Sam had helped him pick out a few titles, but most of their help had been from Charlie who had been more than enthusiastic to reply to their email requesting book suggestions.

As he approached the angel's room, Dean listened for the usual sound of the television, but was slightly surprised to hear nothing at all. Shrugging it off, he stepped into the open doorway, speaking aloud.

"What's your opinion on romance novels?" he asked casually, leaning against the door frame with his eyes still aimed down at the open bag in his hands. When Castiel didn't respond, Dean looked up to see if he was actually in the room.

Castiel was seated in his armchair, only the back of his head and the tops of his shoulders visible from behind. He didn't turn to listen to Dean like he usually did, nor did he respond to the question. Instead, he simply sat in silence, facing the open window.

"Cas?" Dean called out cautiously, stepping into the room and cocking his head to the side. He made his way across the room and placed a hand on the back of the chair. Moving his body around to the side of it, he lowered himself into a mostly crouching position and looked up into Castiel's face.

The angel had a weary and miserable expression on his face. Illuminated in the slowly dying light, his eyes -though void of life- seemed to shimmer, opening doors into a cloudy world of milky blue twilight.

Dean noticed something glimmer in his peripheral vision and his attention was drawn to Castiel's lap. Laying across his legs was a long, silver angel blade, his hand clenched around the handle. The metal glinted in the little golden light that would reach it and suggested Castiel's intentions quite plainly. Dean set down the bag beside himself gently, keeping his gaze fixed upon Cas.

"Hey," he tried, his voice soft. "Cas?" He placed a careful hand over Castiel's and squeezed it comfortingly. Castiel's face did not alter, nor did he even seem to notice Dean's presence. Sensing that something was wrong, Dean tried to pull the angel blade from Cas' hands, but he quickly discovered that such a task was going to need some considerable strength; Castiel's hold on the blade was like a vice grip.

"Cas," Dean said again, pushing the angel's shoulder slightly. "Cas let go of the blade." He tried tugging at the silver handle for a second time, but Castiel's hold on it had not wavered. If anything, it had gotten tighter. Dean dropped his hand from the blade, moving around to face Castiel, placing hands on his shoulders and gripping them tightly.

"Cas, you've gotta wake up. Come on buddy," he said, his voice elevated. He snapped his fingers beside Cas' ear, looking down into the unresponsive face expectantly. To Dean's quickly unraveling horror, Castiel did not respond verbally. Instead, his entire body began to twitch awkwardly in a strange twisting motion. His arms stiffened as if constrained and his torso writhed as if he was being stabbed repeatedly. Feeling panic seize him, Dean grabbed Cas' shoulders and shook them, calling his name urgently. But Cas was so deeply imbedded in his own destructive war zone of a conscious that all of Dean's efforts were fruitless.

Dean could sense fear rising up in his chest; the same fear he'd felt on the day they'd found Cas. It tugged at his core and filtered negative images into his subconscious that pushed against the walls of his brain. This only made him try all the harder, shaking Castiel desperately.

"Cas, come on!" he cried, unintentionally digging his fingers into Cas' shoulders. He stared into Castiel's blank face, praying nearly aloud for a flicker of life. Oddly enough, other angels must have been listening because only moments afterwards, Cas' face fell into an expression of pure calm. His body melted into complete relaxation and his grip loosened on the angel blade, allowing it to slip out of his grasp and onto the floor with a klunk. He blinked a few times before speaking.

"Dean...?" he inquired, moving his head around in search of the hunter. Dean let out a massively audible sigh of relief and let his hands slide from Cas' shoulders as he dropped his head onto Cas' knee. Feeling the pressure on his leg, Castiel turned his head to face Dean and pointed it slightly downwards.

"Christ, Cas," Dean said, lifting his head. He looked up into Castiel's muddled face and dropped all his usual reserves. Without pausing to think about the consequences of his actions, he moved his hand up to clasp Cas' cheeks, his fingers clinging to the smooth edges of his cheekbones. Cas' eyes widened slightly at the contact as he registered what it was; and once he did, a smattering wash of blush decorated his ears.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded, trying to sound angry but being trumped by his fear. He stared into Castiel's face, expecting to see the very same emotion that captured him reflected back, but instead he saw nothing but ignorance and trepidation.

"What was...what?" Castiel replied hesitantly, struggling to work out what Dean was talking about. Dean stared at Cas incredulously.

"What was what? What was that... friggin seizure thing you just had?!" Dean exploded.

"I didn't have a --what?" Castiel said, his tone so utterly full of confusion that it erased all possibility that he could be joking. "A seizure?"

"You're telling me you have no idea what just happened," Dean said in disbelief. Castiel simply nodded, although hesitantly.

"I...suppose," he said. Dean exhaled loudly and moved his eyes about Cas' body, checking for injuries. It was at this moment that he awkwardly realized that his hands were still on either side of Castiel's face. His ears went red very quickly and he immediately drew his hands back to his sides, standing hastily. Castiel blinked in surprise at the sudden loss of contact, but chose not to say anything about it, lest he rouse Dean's memory of the unfortunate encounter with their hands.

"Well, even if you don't remember," Dean began, attracting Cas' wandering attention. "Are you okay?"

Castiel pondered for a moment as to what he should say in response to such a seemingly innocent question. However, giving his own mental state, the question had an answer that was far less than innocent. But he wasn't about to let anyone know.

"I'm fine," he replied with mock-confidence.

The real answer was: no, he wasn't okay. Factually he was very far from 'okay'. In truth, he wasn't surprised to hear that he'd had a seizure. He had suspected something of the sort after a number of times when he'd gone into his separate state of mind and woken up suddenly in a different part of his room or on the floor. He wanted to tell Dean, really, and get the stone off his chest, but he couldn't bring himself to. He was afraid of the effect it would have on Dean; and the effect it would have on the way Dean treated him. The last thing he wanted was for Dean to think he was weak and sick.

Dean reached out for Castiel's shoulder, but when his fingers brushed against the fabric of the angel's shirt, Cas recoiled quickly. He turned himself away from Dean, pointing his face back towards the window.

A dead silence filled the small room, magnifying the sound of the rain that had begun to fall outside. Dean looked down at Castiel from his standing height and realized that the aching inside his gut was the feeling of hurt. He moved his gaze from Cas' face to the small dresser pushed up against the wall beside them. A particular object caught his attention; a small speaker. 

Sam had bought it for Cas when one of their hunts had led them through a city; figuring that he'd like to listen to music. After using it once, Cas had proclaimed that he'd never owned anything so amazing. He spent a solid five minutes trying to explain how it made the music sound like "a hundred tiny dancers waltzing on stars". At the time, Dean had thought that Cas' reaction to the speaker was cute, but thought nothing more of it. However, as he stood there, looking at the seemingly insignificant thing that brought Castiel so much joy, he couldn't help but think. And he couldn't stop thinking about the dancers. He too pictured them: gliding across a ballroom floor, twirling, dipping, waltzing. 

An idea suddenly popped into his head. It was only a small one, hiding far at the back and its voice barely audible. But regardless of how small it was, he listened and obliged.

Reaching forward, he grabbed Cas' hands and --much to Castiel's surprise-- pulled him onto his feet.

"Cas, remember what you said about the tiny dancers?" he inquired, pulling his phone from his pocket and picking up the auxiliary cord that connected to the speaker. He inserted the end into the headphone jack and turned on his phone.

"I-I do..." Cas said, slightly taken aback. "But I don't see how that--"

"I can't stop thinking about the dancers," Dean interrupted, opening his music and selecting a song. A few notes filtered out of the speakers, and soon the room was filled with the soft sound of Ed Sheeran. Castiel moved his head towards the sound, distracted for a few seconds. Dean took this moment to pull Cas closer to him, placing one hand on his waist and clasping one of Cas' hands in his own. Castiel snapped his head around to face Dean once again, completely clueless.

"Dance with me, Cas," Dean said, guiding Castiel's hand to rest on his shoulder, returning his own hand to its place on the angel's waist. Carefully, he began to sway, back and forth to the music. 

"Do you know how to dance?" Dean asked softly. Cas shook his head, still flustered by their close proximity.

"Would you like me to teach you?" Dean suggested. Without a second of hesitation, Cas nodded. Unbeknownst to Castiel, Dean's face broke into a beaming smile; one that didn't waver as he proceeded to show Castiel how to dance.

"I'm going to move my right foot forward, and you'll move your left foot back," Dean instructed, looking down at the patch of floor between them. Obediently, Cas moved his left foot back, which Dean followed with his right. 

"Alright, now bring your right foot back to rest next to your left." Cas did as he was told.

"Good, now move your right foot over."

"Follow it with your left."

Inside his chest, Castiel's heart was beating faster than he had even known was possible. He couldn't see where they were, but he knew that it was no longer the dreary, dust-ridden room. He was in Dean's arms, fitting so perfectly, and they were dancing. He clung to Dean's shoulder --trying very hard not to feel the muscles through his shirt-- and let himself be led in small circles, moving his feet to where Dean instructed. The music was soft, comforting and the words catered to the moment exactly. Castiel had yet to understand how music could be so incredibly flexible. How could one song could capture a hundred moments without changing a single note?

Castiel was so absorbed in his thoughts and feelings that he didn't notice Dean dropping his hand. A sudden warmth on his chest surprised him, and he needed a moment to register that it was Dean, hugging him close. His entire world stopped spinning in that tiny fraction of a second and, unable to stop himself, he felt his ears go hot.

"Dean..." he mumbled. He felt Dean's arms constrict around him, clutching him tightly, but with so much care. Sensing that Dean needed comfort, Castiel raised his arms --though hesitantly-- and very carefully wrapped them around Dean's abdomen. When Dean didn't shrug his arms away, Castiel's insides fluttered and he found himself hugging tighter. They stood like that, in each other's arms for a long time, until long after the song ended.

"I was so scared," Dean finally whispered into Cas' hair, his voice cracked and broken. "When I left you in Purgatory. I was so scared."

Castiel leaned into Dean's touch, wanting to say something to reassure him, but found himself mute as well as blind. All he could do was hold Dean, care for him, love him. 

Yes, he knew he loved Dean. Love seemed to be the only emotion he really understood, until it pulled the rug out from under him and he had to relearn it. Over and over. But he never tired of it. He never tired of loving Dean. It gave him life, something to live for. Dean was the only reason he hadn't used the angel blade yet, why he hadn't run off in search of other angels. Dean was the reason he fought so hard to live in Purgatory, why he abandoned heaven so long ago. He did it all for Dean.

"Don't be scared, Dean," he whispered, rubbing his hands rhythmically up and down Dean's back. "I'm safe; you're safe." Dean nodded into his neck, squeezing him tighter.

The calm sound of rain filled the room, washing away tears, fear and anxiety with a refreshing silence and leaving behind a feeling of ease. Dean felt at peace in that moment, holding Castiel close to him; believing that both of them could finally breathe without restraint. However, though Castiel showed no signs of it, inside he was a mess of things he couldn't explain.

Inside he was screaming.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean sat bolt upright in bed, going from dead asleep to completely awake in the breath between seconds. He paused for a moment, straining his ears for the sound that had shaken him from his slumber. After a few moments, a blood curdling scream rang through the walls of the bunker.

Throwing the blankets off himself, Dean scrambled out of bed; not even bothering to dress himself properly. Snatching his robe off the chair where he'd thrown it, he dashed out into the dark hallway, racing down the tiled floor. Another scream found his ears, this time accompanied by a wracking sob, bringing his fear up to rest in his throat, nearly choking him.

Though he could hardly see, his feet knew where to lead him. The cries grew louder as he neared Cas' room, each one of them wrought with fear, pain and suffering. A faint light filtered around the corner in front of him, growing slightly brighter with each step, until he could see it glowing at its full capacity. Wrenching open the door, he ran into Cas' room, dashing for the bed.

Castiel lay in a mess of clammy blankets, crumpled pillows and discarded pieces of clothing. His body was slick with a cold sweat and his hands were clenched into fists so small, his knuckles were whiter than his sheets. He thrashed about on the mattress, whipping his head back and forth, tears running down his cheeks in endless streams of pain, though it was evident that he was still deep in the clutches of sleep. Dean watched in horror as Cas' body recreated the awful convulsions he had witnessed when Cas had the seizure, only magnified by ten.

"No!" Castiel pleaded to an unknown assailant, shaking his head back and forth, his breathing creaky and rapid. Suddenly, a gut-twisting scream ripped itself from Cas' lungs, his body arching up off the mattress. Dean lunged forward and threw his arms around Cas' middle, pulling him to security, though he still screamed and writhed about. Behind him, Dean heard Sam enter the room, his brother's panic clear in his voice.

"Dean! What's goingㅡ "

"Go away, Sam!" Dean said loudly glaring over his shoulder at the silhouette of his brother.

"Deanㅡ "

"GO AWAY, SAM!" Dean roared, struggling to keep his hold on Cas. Sam stared at Dean but obeyed, closing the door shut behind him. Though he was no longer in the room, Dean was sure he was lurking just outside the door as there had been no footsteps to signal his departure. But that wasn't important.

"Cas!" Dean exclaimed, keeping one arm wrapped tightly around the angel. "Cas, it's just a dream!"

"It's just a dream!"

Suddenly, Castiel's body went limp, dragging weight down on Dean's arm. His eyes fluttered open and he lay panting on the mattress, his chest exposed and drenched in sweat.

"Dean," he croaked, lifting a shaking hand to grope the air, searching for something, for anything.

"Cas, are you okay?" Dean asked, unintentionally moving into the space where Cas' hand was searching. Instead of responding Cas found Dean's face and clung to the skin there. Though mildly startled by the sudden contact, Dean acknowledged Castiel's small, shaking hand pressed against his cheek. He looked into Cas' face and saw so much fear, so much terror, that it hurt him in parts of his heart he didn't even know he had.

Castiel, the angel warrior, could hardly muster more than a choked sob, his empty eyes glassy with tears that showed no end to their downpour. His face looked thinner, shaking and frightened. Dean felt a sudden wave of emotion crash over him in a tsunami of pain, sorrow, love and rage. Rage directed at who or what had driven his delicate Castiel to scream so horribly. Dean felt fury directed at whatever had inflicted so much pain unto his precious angel who had suffered so much he didn't deserve. Dean seethed, but the fire that fueled his anger was doused in a second when Cas opened his mouth.

"Help..." he pleaded quietly, his shaking fingers curling slightly against Dean's cheek. Dean's hand flew up to clasp it, cupping Cas' smaller digits protectively.

"I'm here, Cas," he said softly. "I'm right here."

"Dean..." Castiel said, his voice weak and shaky. He lifted his other hand to Dean's face and tentatively touched his cheek with the tips of his fingers. When Dean made no move to turn away, he very slowly moved his fingers over the rise of Dean's cheek and down beside his nose.

"Yes," he murmured, his face still glistening with tears. "Yes, this is Dean." He began to map the ridges, dips and shapes of Dean's face, gently stroking the rugged skin. Dean sighed at the simple but perfect gesture and allowed Cas' fingers to discover. He allowed Cas to see him through touch.

He closed his eyes as Cas' thumb traced delicately over his eyelid, barely brushing his eyelashes. Even when the soft touch left his eyes, Dean kept them closed, absorbed in the feeling of Cas' hands. The part of him they touched, what they felt was always out for the world to see, was Dean's recognized identity, but it felt so intimate there in the dark. It felt as if Dean had let Cas into his mind and was letting him wander around, allowing him to observe him like an exhibit in an art gallery.

Castiel's hands were cool and soft, but they shook like leaves in an autumn breeze. However, the more of Dean's face they felt, the calmer they became. Soon, Cas was holding Dean's face with still hands clasped on either side of his jaw.

"I can see your face," he whispered, fresh tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Dean's heart skipped a beat and precious hope blocked up his throat.

"You...You can?" he whispered. Cas smiled tearfully.

"With my fingers. It shows up so clearly in my mind," he explained, moving them against his cheek. Dean's heart sank immediately; Cas hadn't meant what he'd thought. Cas must of felt the tension in his face drop as his expression did, for it reflected in the angel's features.

"Dean..." he began "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean shook his head a fraction, closing his eyes. "Nothing..." he murmured. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Castiel said. "You're frowning."

Dean looked up into Cas' blank, expressionless eyes, looking so out of place in his face so wrought with concern and the remnants of his nightmare. Like milky pools of rain, they seemed dreary and cold, hovering over the emotion that should be. The blue his eyes once were sat quivering, barely visible behind hazy clouds that blocked out the sky. Looking into his eyes, the eyes he'd loved for so long, Dean felt empty and horrid. The notion that Castiel was forced to see with his fingers pressed on his stomach like a sick weight that felt oddly similar to guilt. He wanted to tell Cas to go back to sleep, that all would be right in the morning, but he couldn't get over how blank his eyes looked. Like cloudy skies lacking in any sort of star.

Stars...

"Stars!" Dean exclaimed suddenly. Cas jumped slightly at the burst of noise, having become accustomed to the short silence that had befallen them momentarily.

"What?"

"Stars, Cas!" Dean cried, pulling himself away from Castiel's hands. He leapt off the bed and crossed the room to Cas' dresser and began pulling clothes out of the drawers. Castiel followed the sound of Dean's voice as it traveled around the room, his face morphing into one of complete bewilderment.

"Stars...?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes!" Dean said, returning with a sweater and a pair of socks. He tugged the blankets off of Cas' lap and ㅡ much to the angel's astonishmentㅡ shoved the sweater over his head.

"ㅡ Dean!" he stuttered, madly trying to process what was going on as he was stuffed into the soft hoodie. Before he could really gain a grasp on the situation, his head popped back out into the air and his arms were being pushed into fluff-lined tubes Cas identified as sleeves. His fingers found the cushy fabric of the sweater and felt about, but his attention was quickly diverted to a bizarre sensation at his feet.

"Do you remember where you put your shoes?" Dean inquired, sliding warm socks over Cas' bare feet.

"My...shoes?" Cas replied.

"Yeah."

"They're over by the door, on the left side," Cas supplied. Dean got up from his crouching stance and made his way over to the door, looking where instructed. He retrieved Cas' shoes and padded back across the room, pressing the shoes into Cas' hands.

"Put these on, I'll be right back," he said, placing a hand briefly on Cas' shoulder before getting up to exit the room, leaving the door open. To his relief, the hallway was empty. It appeared that Sam had taken the peaceful near-silence from within the room as a signal to head back to bed. Turning the corner that led back to the hall, Dean retraced the running steps he'd taken before, dashing back to his room.

He cavorted into the bedroom he'd lovingly decorated and turned on the light, making a beeline for his closet. Shedding his robe, he threw a flannel shirt over himself and grabbed his jacket, the supple leather folding deliciously beneath his fingers and augmenting his excitement. Casting his jacket onto the bed, he grabbed a bundle of socks from a pile on his chair (where Sam had very kindly placed his folded laundry) and slid his feet into them before wedging them into his boots. Pulling on his jacket, he stepped out into the hall, reaching back in to flick the light switch and plunging his room into darkness.

In less than two minutes, he reappeared in the doorway of Cas' bedroom. Castiel was seated on his bed, his arms pulled forward with his hands in between his knees, but he sat back upon hearing Dean enter his room.

"Dean, what's happening?" he demanded. Dean chuckled and reached for Cas' hand, pulling him to his feet and out into the hall.

"I've got something to show you," he said, pulling Cas along, their hands clasped together.

Dean would be lying if he said that holding Castiel's hand didn't thrill him. Such a tiny thing seemed like an incredible step forward and he wanted to hold on forever. Looking back behind him, he caught a glimpse of Cas' bewildered expression; one so positively adorable that Dean couldn't help but laugh aloud. The ringing echo of the joyful sound bounced off the tiled walls of the bunker and traveled down the hall in front of them. A dark shape stepped out of one of the doorways, causing Dean to jump.

"Dude, what's going on?" the shape asked in a voice that very closely resembled Sam's. The shape stepped closer to them and slowly, Sam's worried face swam into view.

"Why are you laughing?"

Dean stopped walking, causing Castiel to bump into him, making a tiny noise of surprise. Dean grinned up at his little brother, reaching out his free hand to push Sam out of the way.

"Cas and I are going outside," he said instead of replying.

"What? Why?"

"Excuse us, Sammy," Dean said, shoving past Sam and tugging Cas with him like a small child.

"Deanㅡ "

"Go back to bed, Sammy!" Dean called cheerfully, entering the main room of the bunker. Back in the hallway, Sam heard the sound of footsteps climbing the metal stairs. He stared at where he'd seen Dean last with disbelief, but eventually rolled his eyes and wandered back to his room.

Dean burst out of the door to the bunker, grinning as the cool air enveloped his face. Beside him, Cas flinched at the sudden change in temperature.

"Dean, why are we out here?" Cas demanded, scrunching his neck into his shoulders and shoving his hands into the singular pocket of his sweater.

"Come on, you'll see," Dean replied, dropping Castiel's hand and throwing an arm around the angel, causing the two of them to collide. Cas was slightly astonished by the rupture of his personal space, but to be perfectly honest; he wasn't complaining. He allowed himself to be steered, being as careful as possible not to step on Dean's feet. The air was cold, but it was the first time Castiel had felt it on his skin outside of his little window. He huddled against Dean's side, lifting up his hands to his chest and tucking them into each other, attempting to conceal their quickly disintegrating warmth.

Before long, Dean stopped them on a patch of particularly rocky ground where he let his arm fall from Cas' shoulders. Unable to know where Dean had gone, Castiel hugged himself tightly, waiting for Dean to speak or return as his body cried out for the warmth that had left only moments ago. To his left, Cas heard some little sounds, almost as if someone was getting into a car as quietly as possible. There was the sound of a car door closing, a bizarre swoosh and then silence.

Then, without warning, Cas felt arms sliding under his knees and across his back, lifting him off the ground. He exclaimed in surprise, instinctively using his shoulder to try and push himself away from whoever held him. He had a flickering memory, a terrifying memory of being carried off to his doom, of rank breath, of black suits drenched in blood...

He wanted to scream, but his throat was blocked. Only raspy, breathy gasps escaped as his hands groped at the creature that held him. He tried to fight it off, but it was holding him too tightly, it was too strong. It was calling his name, but it sounded so far away so he kept pushing and pushing and pushing.

"Cas!" Dean yelled, placing Castiel onto the hood of the Impala where he had lain a blanket. The moment his arms left the angel, the tension in his body fell away and he lay there on his back, gasping into the night air.

"There wereㅡ " Castiel gasped. "ㅡ monsters! So many..." He reached out and found Dean's shaking hands, clutching at them so tightly it felt as if he was trying to weld the skin together.

"It's okay," Dean said, lifting his hand to press Cas' fingers to his chest. "You're okay." He placed his forehead against Cas', feeling the angel's frantic breath against his chin as it escaped his lips. He closed his eyes and use it his own heat to warm Castiel's frigidly body, their breath mingling between their faces. Before long, Cas' breathing began to slow as his body calmed itself and the shock of his scare left him.

Dean willed his eyes open and found himself looking down into the blank eyes of the angel. He suddenly became highly conscious of their position; Castiel lying beneath him on his back, their bodies pressed together in all the right places. His own slightly panting breath and the close proximity of the one who occupied his dreams melded together in his mind and traveled swiftly to his groin which became uncomfortably warm.

"Dean?" Cas whispered, sensing the shift in Dean's emotions. He too had begun to feel odd and his human vessel was beginning to act of it's own accord, as he was fully aware of their position and it's many implications.

"Sorry!" Dean blurted out, pulling away and feeling embarrassed. Castiel felt himself blush slightly as he drew himself into a sitting position. For once, he was thankful for the darkness of night, as it hid his face from Dean. Equally as awkwardly, Dean moved towards the Impala and hoisted himself onto the hood to sit next to Cas. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few long moments before Castiel broke it with a question.

"Weren't... Weren't you saying something about stars?" he inquired hopefully, silently praying it would be cause to lift the silence from between them. Thankfully, Dean's eyes lit up with excitement at the mention of the celestial objects.

"Yeah," he replied, leaning on his arms as he tilted his head to look up at the sky. Though the light pollution from the neighboring city permeated the sky above them slightly, it didn't block out all the stars. There were still a great deal of visible stars hanging in the inky blackness that spread out in the heavens and Dean found himself at peace.

"Can you see the light of the stars, Cas?" he asked, keeping his eyes trained upwards. Beside him, Castiel looked down sadly, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"No," he said quietly, pressing his hands together in his lap. The awkwardness that had filled the space separating their minds before dissipated into nothingness, leaving only an empty sadness lingering in the air. Dean turned his head to look imploringly at Castiel. He noticed the small motion of Cas' hands in his lap and, without a moment's hesitation, he reached across the space between them and stilled them, taking one of them in his own. Castiel moved his head slightly to almost look up at Dean, daring himself to keep his fingers still.

"Let me see for you," he said, staring hard into Cas' face. "Let me be your eyes."

Castiel allowed a tiny smile to slip onto his face, sliding his fingers between Dean's so that they were intertwined.

"I have seen every star," he said. "In all their births, their deaths and their brightest days." He lifted his face to where he knew Dean's was and smiled all the softer. "You are the most beautiful star I've ever seen, Dean Winchester. And I've seen them all."

Suddenly, Dean's fingers slid away from Cas' and, for a fleeting moment Cas thought he'd gone too far, but before he could think of anything more, Dean's hands were on either sides of his cheeks. And Dean was kissing him.

Softly and delicately, Dean's lips pressed against his own, engulfing him in sensation and warmth. Nothing else could touch him, nothing else could be felt. Simply Dean, his lips and everything attached to them. Cas leaned into the hunter, allowing himself to be kissed and wallowing in the beautiful feeling that was love. He'd ached for this, only not knowing what it was that he desired, yet nothing could have been clearer on his mind at that very moment. Too soon, however, Dean broke away and he was left feeling full yet wanting so much more.

Dean hovered near his lips, their mouths only moments from each other, if distance can be measured by time.

"I'm falling in love with you," he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of their heartbeats. He caressed the beautifully blushing cheek of the angel, loving how perfect he felt.

"And I don't ever want it to stop."

 


End file.
